


Fools Belong to Every Suit

by Focalist



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Focalist/pseuds/Focalist
Summary: Just as summer shatters the shackles of Shujin's students, four young men stumble into another kind of captivity: the carceral of young love—of bruising hearts beating tattoos unto each other, indelible imprints of memories in making, and——Defeat. Inadequacy. Illusion and disillusionment.Because if love were that simple, there'd be little enough to say about it. If youth were so placid, who would ache to let go of it? Put those together—and for good measure, introduce just the right young women—well, shit. Young love, indeed. And they its hapless captives, willing victims, errant executors.(Stories about four guys going through the hardships of romance, as well as the camaraderie they share that sees them through. Other pairings to be revealed as the story progresses.)





	1. First Light

The sun had just cleared the city skyline by the time Yusuke appeared, approaching in his usual, unhurried manner, head turned partway to contemplate something other than the sun-dappled path in front of him. Ryuji called out to him with “Yo, Yusuke!” Akira waved when Yusuke turned to look. He acknowledged both greetings with a nod as languid as his pace. He was wearing what must have been Kosei's athletic attire—a white shirt with a discreet emblem and black track pants—and had no bag with him, which meant he must have dropped by the locker room already. A few feet away from the others, he stopped, so that they formed a rough triangle just off the path.

“Morning,” Akira said.

“Good morning to you as well,” Yusuke returned. “Pleasantries aside, might I ask why you have convened us here so early, Akira?”

“I'll let Ryuji answer that,” Akira said. “He gets credit for this idea.”

“Oh? I hope there's a good reason,” he said, turning to Ryuji, “though I rather doubt it.”

“Hey, don't go dissin' it before even hearing me out.” Any offense Ryuji might have taken vanished as he continued speaking. “Alright, so after everything that happened with Kaneshiro and his floating bank, I figured we should step things up a notch. Think about it. Before Kaneshiro was Madarame; before him, Kamoshida. I ain't saying they weren't dangerous—and they sure as hell were twisted—but the two of them weren't on the same level.”

“That's true,” Yusuke said, which got Ryuji smiling smugly. He went on: “But that doesn't explain what we're doing at the Imperial Gardens.” A beat, then he added, “At six in the morning, no less.”

Ryuji's smirk spread into a roguish grin, as if no one but he could have thought of the idea, which, of course, might have been true in some respects. “We're training.”

Yusuke looked at Ryuji, looked away, and then brought his arms up, fingers angled into a frame through which he scanned the park vista.

“No! You already do that all the time.”

“Yes,” Yusuke said, “But I admit I've been struggling to bring myself to try spot painting for some time now. Your intervention is welcome, if quite unexpected.”

“No! Come on, the attire must've clued you in.” He turned to Akira, “Just what did you tell him?”

“To come in his gym clothes because it's starting to get hot out,” Akira said.

Ryuji sighed. “You really had to put it that way?”

“You know he wouldn't have come otherwise.” He turned to Yusuke. “Sorry, but we're doing Ryuji's kind of training today.”

“How exactly does one train for unpleasantness?”

“We're going for a run!” Ryuji shouted.

Yusuke deflated. “Oh.”

“There'll be other stuff too, of course. A whole regimen. Eventually.”

Yusuke regarded him coolly.

“It'll help us,” Akira said, “In our next foray. The last area was significantly larger than the one before it. We may have to operate in fields that are larger still. We need to be in peak physical condition.”

“That's true,” Yusuke said after some consideration. Ryuji grumbled a complaint, but Yusuke went on,” But what about those patches you got from that doctor? They do a fine job of reinvigorating us.”

“We can't rely on those. We have to be prepared.” He swept them both up in his gaze, grim behind his glasses. In the silence, Ryuji could hear a distant rumble encroaching on his thoughts, as of water sweeping back from the shore into a gathering wave—

“Understood?” Akira said.

Ryuji nodded. When Yusuke did too, there was a heaviness to the movement that told Ryuji he had gotten Akira's point just as well.

“Besides,” Ryuji said lightly, “You really want to keep swapping that patch around when it's full of someone else's sweat?”

Yusuke blanched. “Decidedly not. Especially if it's yours.”

“Good,” Akira said, before Ryuji could retort.

“Anyway,” Ryuji said, “Now that everyone's finally here and on the same page—”

“Not quite,” Akira said, the corner of his mouth curling into a familiar smirk. “I couldn't keep just Yusuke in the dark. Wouldn't be fair.”

“So..?”

“So there will be one last person joining us.”

The other two gave him a searching look. “Who?” Ryuji asked.

Akira pointed past the gap between them and they turned to follow his gesture.

“Uhh, you all seemed so into it, so I wasn't sure when to announce myself, but, well...I guess I'll be joining you today?” Mishima laughed sheepishly.

 

The gate they'd used as a starting point loomed into view. Ryuji locked his focus on his pace, on keeping his pace even, on steadying the breaths that burned through his lungs. A moment later and the gate blurred into the edge of his vision and then out of it. Ryuji eased some of the tension in his muscles, chipping away at his momentum with each footfall, until he had slowed to a walk. He cupped a hand over the face of his watch, blocking the slanting rays of the morning sun, and did a quick count of the minutes that had passed. Just about seventeen-and-a-half. He nodded to himself as he paced. Not bad. But not great. And the pain in his leg was nowhere in the vicinity of great. He balled a fist and pounded it into his twitching thigh, focused again on his pace, his breathing, on keeping them regular—on avoiding the images that crouched at the edge of his mind, swelling with each step, as if goaded on by the pain.

But another runner dashed past him then, close enough for the wake of his passage to sweep like a breeze over Ryuji's side—and then he was in the heart of the vault, a stone's throw away from the dozens of tonnes of steel hurtling like an oversize cannonball toward Joker. True to form, their leader cheated death at the last second, but the deadly sphere bounded off the reinforced wall behind him and careened toward Ann, who was quivering in a daze from the fumes Kaneshiro's machine had emitted moments earlier. Ryuji launched himself, the roar of waves that were not there filling his ears, his persona whipping the breath in him into a storm surge—but halfway through, the pain lanced through his leg, the bad leg, and he crashed to the ground, chin slamming down hard. He looked up to see Makoto ride in on her persona and snatch Ann out of the way of Kaneshiro's path. But then the globe of crushing steel hit another wall, spun, launched again. And he watched as it grew larger in his vision until—

“Sakamoto!”

Ryuji blinked and the world seemed to brighten up. That was just as it always did when he came out of a run— _It has to do with the oxygen distributed by your bloodstream._ That damn upperclassman, making running too complicated, as usual—but this time the trees, the warm sunlight, and the expanse of running track seemed strange and bewildering. The cry came again from behind him, and he turned to see Mishima jogging toward him.

“Yo, Mishima,” he said, voice cracking through his dry throat. “What's up?”

Mishima slowed to match his pace, and then spoke in between breaths. “Akira told me to go on ahead. Let you know. Kitagawa's reached his limit. They're at the hydration station. Last one before the gate.”

Ryuji sighed. “Can't say I'm surprised. Alright, let's go get them.”

They set off back down the path at a brisk walk, Ryuji hanging a step back to let Mishima take the lead. He could still hear the echo of phantom waves crashing in the hollows of his memory, at odds with the warm glow of the morning.

“Hey, uh, Mishima.”

“Yes?” A little too quick, like something had bitten him.

“So, uh, you're into jogging?”

“Well, Akira invited me. I didn't really have anything better to do. I mean, not that I dislike jogging or think it's boring or anything. I mean, we used to do it a lot in volleyball training. Mostly when Kamoshida was in one of his moods.” He trailed off and looked away. “Well, good thing that's done with, right?”

“Right,” Ryuji managed.

They sank back into silence. Ryuji wracked his brain for something to say. Akira made it look way too easy. It was like he knew just what to tell a person the minute— “Hey, Mishima. What was your time?”

“What? Oh. I forgot to check. I got a bit caught up with Kitagawa fainting. I hope he'll be alright,” Mishma trailed off into a mutter.

“He should be fine,” Ryuji said. “He's not as fragile as he looks. Probably just did something dumb like skipping dinner.”

“Oh,” Mishima said, then nothing more.

Ryuji checked his watch again. Around 20 minutes since they'd started. Mishima had made decent time, though he probably had sprinted the last stretch. More than he'd expected from someone like him. Volleyball training, however hellish it was under Kamoshida, must've counted for something.

A couple of minutes more and they came upon Akira and Yusuke on a bench: one sitting, the other one drooping across it like a rug left out for dusting. Akira waved at them. Yusuke simply lay there.

“Hey, Yusuke,” Ryuji said, “You miss breakfast or something?”

“I had breakfast,” he muttered.

“Yeah, what?”

“Beansprouts,” he said, then added, a little to proudly, “and biscuits.”

Ryuji shook his head and turned to Akira, but their leader simply shrugged. He moved over to the bench and clapped Yusuke on the shoulder. “Come on, get up.”

Yusuke rose unsteadily to his feet. Akira rose as he did, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

“Right,” Ryuji said. “Time to get to the good part.”

 

An hour later, they were crammed in a booth in a diner, leaning back into their seats, appreciating the emptiness of their bowls and the fullness of their stomachs, save for Yusuke, who alone still held his chopsticks and, with the precision of a pointillist, eliminated the final blemishes of rice on his bowl.

“So, what do you think? Nothing better than a big meal after a workout.” Ryuji emphasized his point with a sage wave of a toothpick.

“You weren't kidding about this being the good part,” Akira said.

“Hell yeah! The right appetite makes food twice as good. You know what I mean, right, Mishima?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mishima said, eyes darting everywhere. “It really chases the stress away. I mean, uh, you need protein for those gains, right?”

Yusuke grumbled into the silence that followed. “An empty wallet or an empty stomach. Such conditions...”

Ryuji and Akira exchanged smirks across the table.

“What if you could have both full?” Akira said. When Yusuke glanced up, eyebrow arched, he continued: “Given our objective, this will all be coming out of my discretionary fund.”

“Of course.” Yusuke's eyes widened. “Of course. Akira can spend his funds because it's all for our success in the Me—Ah!” The table jolted suddenly and Yusuke crouched down, wincing.

“Meeting girls!” Ryuji blurted.

“Who—” Yusuke began.

“Sorry, my bad,” Akira said offhandedly, though his eyes hinted at dire peril. “Thought it was the table leg.”

“Not at all,” Yusuke said, and whether it was a comment on Akira's flimsy excuse or a concession of the mistake he almost made, Ryuji couldn't be sure. Maybe both.

“Meeting girls?” Mishima echoed uncertainly.

“Of course,” Akira said. Right on the beat. “It's part of youth, after all.”

“I mean, you too, right?” Ryuji looked at Yusuke. “I mean, aren't artists all about passion and inspiration and muses? And you can't say you don't find inspiration in chicks. Not after all that stuff about painting Ann naked.”

Mishima goggled. “Wait,” he spluttered, “As in Shujin's Ann? Takamaki?”

“They never got around to it,” Akira clarified.

Ryuji elbowed Yusuke. “Much to this guy's disappointment.”

“The whole world should regret that no art came of that opportunity,” Yusuke said.

“But you're not denying it,” Ryuji pressed. “You might be weird as all hell going about it, but you'd want a nice girl as much as the next guy would, wouldn't ya?”

Yusuke shook his head. “I pursued Ann only as a subject. I could not harbor a muse if it meant taking any attention away from my art.”

“I was wrong. Still denying it.”

“So Kitagawa likes Takamaki?” Mishima mumbled.

Yusuke glanced sidelong at him. “As a subject.”

“Just be up front about it, man,” Ryuji said.

“Well,” Akira said, “While we're being up front, let me ask you, Ryuji. Isn't there someone you like?”

Ryuji faltered for a moment. “Naw, no one in particular. It's a general thing. I'd like to find someone with nice personality that matches me.”

“'Nice personality' and 'one that matches yours?'” Akira echoed. “You're contradicting yourself there.”

“What?! Well, what about you then?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mishima said, “What kind of girl's your type, Akira?”

Akira shrugged. “The unattainable ones.”

“What the hell, man,” Ryuji said.

“Well, that sounds just like you,” Mishima added.

Yusuke fixed him with a probing look. “Attaining an unattainable woman… aren't you setting yourself up for failure?”

“How do I say this,” Akira drawled. “They're unattainable until you attain them. Like, when you're with each other, something changes in the both of you. And in that moment… Well, everyone here believes in the Phantom Thieves. Let's just say in that moment, against all odds, you just make take that person's unattainable heart.”

Yusuke pondered this in silence. Ryuji and Mishima gave him incredulous looks as well.

“As expected of you,” Mishima said at length. “You're on a totally different level.”

“It's not totally different. After all, I'm still just like you all: looking for someone who understands me. Nice personality a bonus,” he added impishly, “but not required. What about you, Yuuki, who do you have in mind?”

“Yeesh. I guess, uh, someone who's…fine? With me?” Mishima had averted his eyes, but he glanced back up at Akira, observing his reaction.

But Akira merely met his gaze in poker-faced silence.

Mishima laughed sheepishly. “I mean, I'm just not a picky person. And whoever it is, I mean, like you said, you both grow into each other, right? Grow with each other. Ugh, what am I saying.”

Akira smirked. “What did I say, I'm not on a totally different level.”

The other three regarded him quizzically.

“Like I said. Something changes.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the other three and for a while the young men sat in silence, each divining the secrets of life in a few grains of race strewn across a saucy bowl. But presently, Yusuke broke the silence.

“What does running ourselves ragged have to do with finding a muse?”

“Chicks dig the muscled look,” Ryuji said. “And we will get to that. I've got a whole routine planned out, not just cardio.”

“I'd rather people focused on my art than on my body,” Yusuke replied.

“Yeah, well, even you look for nice bodies.”

“But that's different. It's for art, not dalliances.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Sure, nude art.”

“If anything, you're the one who's fixated on—”

“But Yusuke,” Akira said evenly. “What if she wasn't just a subject in your painting?”

Ryuji settled back to listen and Mishima stopped trying to sink into his seat.

“Let me put it this way. You've been in a slump. You're not sure how to get out of it, but you know you have to change something in yourself. As we've established: you change them and they change you.”

Yusuke considered this a moment. He sighed. “There's no way out of this is there?”

“I'll hear you out when you've got a better plan,” Ryuji said smugly, “But until then, we meet at the same station at first light.”

 

They parted ways outside the restaurant. Mishima had gone off ahead and with him out of the way, Akira took Yusuke aside to explain some of the plan's finer points in an attempt to get him more willingly on board: they'd be treating workout expenses and post-workout meals as an operation necessity and would allocate a small portion of the funds for them. Yusuke pressed for details of their regimen at first, but when Ryuji started going on about sets, repetitions and the like, he'd put on a pained expression and simply agreed. And then he was off to Jinbocho to buy some art books, leaving Akira and Ryuji to make their way back to Shibuya and then to their respective homes.

“I'd say that went well,” Akira said. “Nice work, Ryuji.”

“Yeah, well next time we gotta make sure Yusuke eats a proper meal so you're not stuck playing pick-up-sticks with him. Y'know, 'cause he's thin as a stick. Besides, we gotta make sure your time's improving, too!”

“Just think of it as a practice round,” Akira said. “You can fight mid-boss Mishima before you challenge the Joker.”

“Hah! So you're the boss, are ya? Well, I've taken down faster runners and bigger egos so just you wait.” He mocked a punch. Akira, in his typical way, avoided with such ease that Ryuji felt the joke was on him. Ryuji settled with flipping him off. “But hey,” he added, “Mishima's time was actually better than I'd have expected on him.”

“Of course it was,” Akira said. “I pick my mid-bosses well.”

They got down at Shibuya station and navigated the crowd until they reached a convenience store. They each got a bottle of water and settled into a quiet corner of the store, where Ryuji skimmed the covers of the manga weeklies.

“Hey, Ryuji,” Akira said.

“Hm?”

“You sure there's no one you're interested in?”

“I tell it how it is, man. No one.”

“But when you 'tell it as it is' that means you are training to pick up girls?”

Ryuji smirked up at him. “What's in a few weeks? School trip. Hawaii! No better time to get in shape than now.”

“That's a relief. What would I do if you'd pulled a Yusuke?” He modulated his voice in imitation of their co-conspirator. “ _I assure you, Akira, I can spare no attention for anything except running._ ”

Ryuji smacked him with the manga. “What you take me for? Unlike brush-brain, I can run and live my life at the same time.”

“I'd expect nothing less. Anyway, I've got to get back to LeBlanc before too long or the Boss'll flay me. Take care.”

“Sure man,” Ryuji said, standing up and tucking the manga under his arm.

“And we'll have to test that theory,” Akira said, one step into the crowd, “about living life while running.” He said it offhandedly, as was always his way. And as was also always his way, Ryuji knew, he meant more by it, more than he let on to knowing. And as Akira vanished into the crowd, Ryuji could hear the nearby trains, tonnes of steel hurtling down their tracks, reminding him of nothing so much as the roaring of distant waves that were not there.


	2. Shrimps, Crabs, and All Kinds of Shells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as sandcastles fall to waves, so do the defenses of young men falter on the beaches of Hawaii.  
> As the last day of the school trip comes around, Akira, Yuuki, Yusuke, and Ryuji strive to secure those much-desired school trip memories.

Akira opened the hotel door, slipped inside, and closed it quietly behind him. He slid his key card into the slot just behind the door and the faint hum of the air conditioning filled the room. As he strode to the middle of the room, he pulled his phone from his pocket and read the message again. _Would you like to take a walk with me along the beach?_ Each word as he remembered it. This was indeed happening.

Had to act fast. His fingers beat a rapid tempo against the screen. _Of cou—_ Or was that too eager? _Sure, I've got nothing el—_ Not enthusiastic enough? He paused mid-pace at the foot of his bed, tension gathering into the pads of his thumbs.

“Agh!” If he didn't send it quick, she might take off with someone else. He swiped a few quick strokes across the screen. _Sure. Where should we meet?_ And send.

A moment later: _Let's meet at the beach in front of the hotel. I'll be there in fifteen minutes._

“Yes!” he whispered to himself, pumping a fist. He tossed his phone onto the bed and made for the bathroom. The board shorts he'd worn the previous day were still moist with seawater; the ones from the day before that, still crusty with salt. He grabbed the dry ones and tossed them into the sink but paused just before he ran the tap. No good. Do that and _these_ would be wet, too.

“For the love of—” He weighed the two pairs of shorts: be slimy or be salty? The slime had a bit of salt in it, too, so there was that. He threw the moist pair back onto the counter and strode out. In a couple of minutes he'd changed into the salty shorts, which scarcely felt any worse for wear. They certainly didn't look much different, except for the tiny flecks of white, which would, in any case, have shown up there after some walking amid the sand and seawater. Makoto wouldn't mind that he showed up a little pre-salted, would she? After all, he was presentable besides that. Ryuji's training in the last couple of weeks had paid off.

The five-kilometer runs every other morning had trimmed off any unwanted softness and looseness from his silhouette, while the weights and conditioning that filled the other mornings had etched subtle ridges into his abdomen and hardened the muscles on his limbs. All this was clear as he tried out a few poses in the mirror: leaning like so, twisting just right, lifting an arm and curving it to cast the muscles in the right relief. He sighed. “Right. Let's do this.”

But he'd barely taken two steps when another doubt surfaced. What if Makoto didn't like guys who flaunted too much? Should he be a touch more subtle? Throw on a shirt and just leave it open down the front? A tank top maybe? After all, she was a well-bred young woman. She probably preferred a more sophisticated presence.

Akira dashed back to his suitcase and began rummaging through it. He'd gone through all the tank tops in the last couple of evenings, but he did still have a polo suitable for the beach. It was a little creased from how he'd packed it, but as he inspected it in front of the mirror, he figured it'd hold up just fine. But wait. What if Makoto showed up in just her swimsuit and then saw him in the shirt. Would she feel underdressed? Overexposed? Would she run back to her room with a let-me-put-on-something-nicer? No, Makoto, I assure you, just your swimsuit is fine—but he couldn't very well say that while wearing a shirt, however open across the chest it might have been. But then what if she didn't show up in her swimsuit, anyway, and found it awkward that he'd showed up so bare.

But it was the beach, right? So she would probably—

A trill of notes interrupted his thoughts, followed by the frantic rumbling of his phone vibrating on the counter. A message from Makoto: _I'll be there in just a moment. Hope you haven't been waiting long._

“Damn it!” Akira tossed the shirt onto the bed, then dashed out the room.

And just before the door could swing shut in his wake, he took a single step back in, grabbed his key card from the power slot, and then hurried back out, slamming the door behind him.

 

 _Bye-bye, baby, bye-bye, she said in her letter…_ Off in the distance, some Hawaiian storefront continued its tinny concert of power ballads from some three decades ago. The aged or maybe dead rock star's crooning sluiced over the mingled voices of locals and tourists, a heady mix of Japanese, Hawaiian, and English that made a wonderfully senseless alloy of noise.

 _Guess this is goodbye, guess this is forever…_ Yuuki picked idly at the shrimp heaped on the plate between him and Ryuji. As soon as he'd recovered from the gastric gauntlet of the night before, he found his appetite quite expanded, but even that wasn't enough to match the sheer amount of shrimp and the unyielding, unvarying taste of garlic. Ryuji had given up early, as well, and was now watched the waves rolling in idly.

“Sakamoto, are you okay?” Yuuki asked. He imagined that to the average passerby, it would be Ryuji who'd appear recently ill, not him.

Ryuji startled and blinked at him for a while, as if pondering his presence there. “Shrimp's good, huh?” he said, stuffing his mouth with another helping.

“Yeah, but I'm reaching my limit.”

Ryuji's fist slammed onto the table between them. “Damn straight, man!”

“What?” Yuuki asked. “What did I—”

“It's unreasonable, right? Like, if I asked you, 'Hey, Mishima, what kinda girls you like?' how would ya answer?”

It was Yuuki's turn to lapse into a stupor. “Um.”

“Come on, you must've had a crush on someone. Just say something about her.”

He gave it a moment's thought. “Diligent, I guess—”

Ryuji pounded the table again. “Diligent.” He pointed a finger square at Mishima's face. “Are you effing lying to me, man?”

“What? No!”

Ryuji leaned back into his chair. “Exactly. You don't lie about things like this, right? If you like a certain kind of girl, you just say so. No point doing otherwise.”

“I'm… not sure I know what you're getting at,” Yuuki said.

Ryuji waved his hand dismissively. “Forget about it. It's too dumb to be stressing over.”

“Right,” Yuuki said. He kept Ryuji in his peripheral vision for a minute more but when it was clear his companion's little tirade was over, he went back to staring out at the sea, watching the waves roll up in surges of shimmers. _...why she would leave me this way with nothing to say…_ He picked up another shrimp and popped it idly into his mouth. The taste of garlic filled his mouth, along with an a hint of salt evoked by the smell of the sea.

“Mishima!”

He jumped a little in his chair and turned to Ryuji.

“Let's say you're a lucky guy and you meet two equally diligent chicks and they're both into you, how would you pick one?”

Yuuki arched an eyebrow. “I… um, what?”

“Two equally diligent girls. Each one wants you for herself. How would ya pick?” He picked up a shrimp. “Oh! But try not to imagine the girl you were thinking of. So you're a lucky guy—'cause, you know, two girls—but you're not _that_ lucky because neither one's the girl you've got a thing for right now.” He chomped on the shrimp and swallowed. “So, what'll it be?”

“Well, I guess I'd… pinch myself?" He laughed in a way even he had to admit was lame. “I don't know. Maybe I'd just go with whoever confessed first?”

“Whoa! Whoever confessed… I guess I should be clearer. They dig you, but not _so much_ that they'd actually be the first to say it.”

Yuuki blinked. “Why not? I mean, how would I know then?”

“You'd be getting hints. It'd be pretty obvious.”

“Erm, well, hypothetically… I've got nothing. It's a bit of a stretch, this whole scenario. What would you do?”

“I already answered this one. You answer.”

“What? When did you answer it?”

“Last night. You were in the bathroom with that hellish diarrhea.”

“Oh, right,” he groaned. “So what did you answer?”

Ryuji shook his head. “If I say what it was you might get ideas. You answer first.”

He groaned. “Fine. I'd… I guess I'd take the one who has more interests in common with me.”

“Okay,” Ryuji said, “Now say there were two girls: one who was really diligent and one who liked a lot of the stuff you liked. Who would you go for?”

“I—” Mishima paused. “Huh. I guess I'd actually go for the second one.”

Ryuji returned him a dour look. “What.”

“Huh.” Yuuki nodded slowly to himself. “Whoa, so it was a mind trick to get me to realize what I really like in a girl, huh? That's pretty good, Sakamoto. Where'd you learn that one?”

“Son of a—” He got to his feet, shoving his chair back several inches as he straightened his legs. “You know what? Never mind. Let's go. I'm sick of shrimp.”

“Wait, Sakamoto. You said you answered the question last night. What did you say?”

“Oh, you know me,” Ryuji said, forcing the lines out with acerbic levity, “I'm just a simple guy who goes for the girl with the hottest bod.” He stomped off along the boulevard, heavy footsteps kicking sand up off the concrete as he went.

... _Baby, bye bye, she said in her letter. And that's all she wrote…_

 

Yusuke's stretched forward until his shoulder touched the ridge of sand. Inside the narrow tunnel of sand, his wriggling arm scraped small showers of sand off the walls. He paid it no mind. His grasping fingers could already brush the cold, moist sand packed hard into the end of the burrow. This was as far in as it went, which meant that any second he would brush against—

“Ah!” He flinched, but managed not to recoil before closing his fingers upon the chitinous creature that itself had snapped a claw around them. He could feel its cool, slightly slick body secure in his still stinging hand and he wasted no time in yanking it out of the pit. But he stumbled as his elbow bent and struck a wall of sand—and in that moment he felt the creature wriggle free. With a wordless curse, he threw himself flat on the ground again, driving his arm as far in as it could go.

But there was nothing to be had save for cold, moist, hard-packed sand.

He loosed a heavy sigh.

“Everything okay?”

Yusuke turned toward the voice—feminine, familiar, though he couldn't quite name it. The speaker was standing between him and the sun, so her features were lost in the contrast of light.

“Do you need a hand?” she continued.

“No,” he said, “It was merely pinched, not severed.” With that he pulled his arm out of the crab's sand pit and got into a sitting position. He brought his other hand up to his brow to block some of the light and at last he was able to discern enough of his interlocutor's features to name her. “Oh, you're the one from the airplane.” After a fashion, anyway.

“Yes, your seatmate,” she said and, perhaps sensing his discomfort, moved to sit beside him, such that the light fell on her at a more sensible angle. She tilted her head a little as she sat, the brim of her hat catching the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun, cutting a line of soft shadows across her face.

“You'll forgive me if I don't recall your name,” Yusuke said, “I was rather—” a string of notes and a loud buzzing interrupted him. He reached a hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “Rather drowsy and a little distracted.”

“It's Hifumi,” the girl said, the shape of a laugh framing her response.

“Hifumi,” he muttered to himself. He nodded. “Yusuke.”

A flurry of message alerts rattled his phone and he pinned the lock button down with his thumb. “Excuse me a moment, I've some messages that seem to demand my urgent attention.”

“Go ahead,” Hifumi said. “Your friend from the airport?”

“Almost certainly,” Yusuke said. He retrieved his phone and unlocked it. Futaba had left a slew of messages for him.

_Futaba: Did you get it?_

_Futaba: did u???_

_Futaba: o i guess ur hands would be busy_

_Futaba: Just report on your success when you're done :u_

_Futaba: Snake! What's going on?_

_Futaba: It's_ _a_ _Kenyan mangrove crab!_

_Futaba: Snake! Snaaaaake!_

_Futaba: Helloooo you're supposed to reply 'Crab battle!' and grunt like crazy_

_Futaba: Srsly it's like ur not even trying_ ಠ_ಠ

It took Yusuke a few seconds to peel away the disconcerted morass of thoughts that Futaba often mixed into her messages. He settled on sending _I'm afraid the crab eluded me._ He turned to Hifumi. “I don't suppose you'd know what a Kenyan mangrove crab is?”

Hifumi cocked her head. “I can only guess based on the name. Were you pursuing a crab just now?”

“Yes,” Yusuke said. _What do you mean Kenyan mangrove crab? Is there something special about it?_

Futaba's reply came with predictable haste and incoherence. _use ur CQC snake_

“And now CQC...” he muttered.

“Seems like you've got your hands full with that one.”

“That's putting it lightly.” _Could you perhaps use acronyms that normal people understand?_ “Do you ever feel like you're only understanding one third of the other side of a conversation?”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Hifumi chuckled. “Sometimes.”

_Futaba: This is basic, Snake!_

_Yusuke: And why 'Snake' now?_

_Yusuke: If you'll be giving me absurd nicknames at least keep it to one._

_Futaba: OLIOLIOOOO_

Yusuke squinted at the screen. “What on—” he caught himself and cleared his throat. “Do you know if snakes and crabs have a naturally predatory relationship?”

Hifumi shrugged. “I'm afraid I don't know all that much about crabs or snakes. Were snakes involved in your foray as well?”

Yusuke shook his head. Futaba had sent half a dozen variations on _Oliolio_ in the last few seconds alone. “Apparently. I wasn't aware.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “My friend started making references to a snake. How it fits in… your guess is as good as mine.”

Hifumi leaned backward, planting her hands in the sand. “Well, they both move in unusual patterns. Sideways.”

“Is that so? I thought snakes moved in a slithering motion.” He stuck his finger a foot away from where he sat and then drew his arm back toward his body, flicking his finger side to side as he did, leaving an undulating trail in the sand.

“Yes, but in effect some snakes move with a slight diagonal motion. And it's that difference that's crucial, isn't it? You think it's moving one way and then—” She jerked her hand up in front of her, fingers together and palm down, imitating a snake—“all of a sudden, it's right there, where you weren't expecting it. Crabs, too, I suppose. They move a lot faster than you'd think and can shift directions with remarkable agility.”

Yusuke pondered this a while. His phone vibrated a few times more. He shook his head. “It probably doesn't bear thinking about.”

“Are you sure?” Hifumi said. “This might bother you for some time still. And won't it upset your friend if you don't pick up on it?”

Yusuke shrugged. “I wouldn't worry about it. She doesn't really seem to mind either way.”

“Really?” Hifumi gave him a sideways glance. Yusuke returned it, eyebrows arched. She broke their exchange of stares with a sudden laugh. “Your friend sounds like a lot of fun. Or rather, I suppose you _and_ your friend sound like a lot of fun.”

“Do we? It's all quite puzzling.”

“You don't enjoy puzzles? I thought that's what you were getting at, you know, on the plane.”

Yusuke thought back, but the plane ride returned to him only as a blur. The flight attendant had chastised him for not turning his phone off right away. He'd of course had it on because of Futaba's ceaseless distractions, and when he'd said _I have to turn my phone off. The flight attendant is growing irate,_ she'd had the gall to reply with one of her impertinent facial diagrams. And what he and Hifumi had been discussing just after that and just before they'd drifted to sleep…

“Kandinsky?” Hifumi prompted.

“Oh, yes,” Yusuke said, “His language of symbols.” Of course, Futaba's emoji or whatever they were called hardly approached the sophistication of Kandinsky's non-representational vocabulary. And besides, emoji were very much representational images. So how had they gotten to that topic? Was the recluse girl's erratic thought process rubbing off on him? “What did I say about him, exactly?”

“You were talking about the challenge of conveying a visual experience that was as powerful and abstract, but also as coherent as a symphony. It sounds like a puzzle to me. And it sounds like one you enjoy confronting.”

Yusuke nodded, their conversation resurfacing partway in his mind. “Yes, it's something I've been trying to work with. Of course, it's only one way of looking at the challenge of abstraction in art.”

“So you _do_ enjoy such puzzles?”

“It's not the same thing,” Yusuke said. Hifumi seemed taken aback; perhaps he had replied too harshly? He averted his face and hoped his expression softened as he spoke. “Kandinsky sought to give form to what was essentially beyond naming. He recognized the limits of language as such. Meanwhile, this person keeps sending me messages creating all sorts of confounding chains between words, as if they weren't trouble enough already, she has to go and mix them up further. It's… beyond me.”

And suddenly Hifumi's hand passed just over his and she planted a finger in the ground. She traced a wide arc around his hand, moving it back to where she'd started, made a flicking motion, and then pulled it back again the other way. When she lifted her hand, he found she'd drawn a crude likeness of a snake surrounding what he, apparently, had absentmindedly drawn—a series of oblongs and scalene triangles.

“It's a crab, right?” she said, nodding at his drawing.

“No,” Yusuke said absently. “It's not anything we can point at. It's obduracy and obstinacy and an escape right when you think you have the chase in hand.”

Hifumi laughed. “It's something hard and impenetrable and you can't quite catch it.”

“Yes,” Yusuke said.

“But not a crab.”

“Not at all.”

Hifumi drew a crude face in one of the oblongs. It looked like one Futaba had sent before, though he couldn't imagine what emotion it conveyed; if Hifumi knew it, though, perhaps it was more common than he thought.

“I think I'd like to meet your friend,” Hifumi said, “But I'm not sure she'd be thrilled with the idea.”

“Probably not,” Yusuke agreed.

“Oh?” Hifumi's eyes widened, but there was no offense there—perhaps amusement? “So then, does that mean she—or rather, do you fancy each other?”

“Do we—No! Of course not! What kind of twisted attraction is founded on orneriness and… and… nonsense.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn't know. To be honest, I'm a stranger to such things as well. But the two of you seem so attached is all.”

“Like a barnacle on a crab's shell,” Yusuke muttered.

“What _were_ you trying to do with that crab?” Hifumi said.

“Oh. I was going to study it.”

“Its anatomy?”

“Yes. Crustaceans are difficult to come by in Tokyo. At least, ones that aren't destined for a dining table. And those tend to cost good money.”

“Well, I'm sure there are several rare sights Hawaii can offer up. Perhaps we should find you another crab?”

“That would be ideal, but it took me long enough to find the one.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that,” Hifumi said. She stood up and offered him her hand. “Follow me. I'll find you another. After all, it's just a matter of getting their pattern.”

Yusuke took her hand and unfolded himself from the sand. As he followed her lead, another message came in. Hifumi's eyes were set firmly on the path ahead of them. He whisked out his phone. Futaba had left a slew of messages which would take more time than he could spare to decipher—he could probably wrack his brains over them for the rest of the trip and come no closer. And so he responded to them even as he dismissed them, with a simple _Finding another crab. I shall succeed this time._ But then added, _They can't be Kenyan. This is Hawaii._

 

Ryuji didn't leave the water until dusk had fallen and the tropical heat had yielded to mild evening breezes. Though the air was still heavy with the sea vapors, it was cool enough to send a shudder through Ryuji as it blew over him the first time; after that, the wind was tolerable, if not quite comfortable.

Mishima was sitting on the same beach chair he'd seen him return to when he quit the waters earlier. He was dry already, of course, and tapping away on his phone. Did the thing have, like, twice the battery his own phone did? He'd been on it for at least an hour by now.

“Anything new?” Ryuji asked as he dropped into the plastic chair next to Mishima's, its slatted seat flecked with large grains of sand.

“Mostly the same requests,” Mishima said. “I used a cover account to start a few threads about Phantom Thieves fans outside Japan, like in Hawaii, Guam, and a few other places. There are a lot more here than I'd have expected. Not so much in the other places, though.”

“Yeah? Huh. I wonder what they'd say if they realized they were so close to—I mean, like, right next to the students from the school of the Phantom Thieves' first heist. Wonder if that's worth any cred here.”

“It's kind of a stretch. I mean, it's our whole year level. You can't expect them to think we're all, like, celebrities or something.” He barked a mirthless laugh. “And besides, it's not like _we_ did anything directly in that heist. We'd be curiosities at best. Ordinary in all the ways it matters.”

“Well, I guess it'd look like that, no question. Son of a— How is it I'm getting depressed when I'm talking about the effing Phantom Thieves. We ought to be living it up! It's our last night at Hawaii, dammit.”

“That's true,” Mishima said. “Well, I saw quite a few of our classmates pass by while you were swimming. Some heading into town, others, well, I dunno.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryuji perked up. “I mean, seeing more Shujin faces ain't exactly my idea of a killer last night in Hawaii, but if they're going somewhere, there must be something happening.”

“Well, nothing we'd be invited to,” Mishima said, wincing. “Most of them were couples.”

“Oh for—” He threw himself fully against the back of his chair. A dozen grains of sand embedded themselves in his skin. “You know, maybe we should just turn in early.”

“Well, we could,” Mishima said, “But uh… could I crash in your room for a while? I mean, only if I have to. Akira has our key and, well, I haven't heard from him since this afternoon.”

“Oh, right,” Ryuji said. Who knew where that lucky bastard had gotten off to. He'd at least had the decency to send a quick message to explain he'd be with Makoto that afternoon. Probably off… doing whatever it was couples did. Eating together. Having fancy drinks with tropical fruits with crazy names like 'passion' or 'paradise' in them. Swimming together? Which would mean sunblock, of course, which would mean— “Come on,” Ryuji said, leaping to his feet. “Let's just grab something to eat then head back.”

“Alright,” Mishima said, rising to his feet. “But no shrimps. I mean, they're great and all, but I have my limits. Especially my stomach.”

They made their way over to the boulevard near the beach, washing their feet out at a faucet at the beach's end, somehow tracking new sand even as they traversed the sidewalk. They found an inviting-looking food stall a few minutes later with only a small crowd gathered in front of it, sitting on high stools around tall tables, or placing orders at the bar, or chatting as they waited for those orders to come through.

They stood at the back of the press—it couldn't be called a line—and craned their necks at a menu above the counter. “What you having?” Ryuji asked after a moment.

“Everything I can lay my hands on,” said a voice that was familiar even in its deliberate melodrama, but decidedly not Mishima-esque, “While giving nothing back.”

Ryuji whirled around. And there was Akira, a smirk cutting asymmetrically across his slightly sunburned features. Behind him was Makoto, holding back a laugh.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” Ryuji said, shoving Akira playfully. “Looks like Mishima doesn't have to be locked out after all.”

“Wait,” Makoto said, earlier amusement suddenly gone. “Don't tell me you've been keeping him out of the room this whole time.”

“It's not been that long,” Mishima said, “Ryuji and I had a lot to occupy us. Still do, I mean. Haven't even picked what to order, right?”

“Yeah, just about,” Ryuji said, “Though I could go for one 'everything I can lay my hands on,' I guess.”

“Well, I'm quite hungry too,” Makoto said.

“What do you want?” Akira said, turning to her, “I'll place it along with my order.”

Makoto pondered it a while. Finally, she settled on a combo meal, but made a point of wrapping Akira's hand around a cluster of bills and coins first. Akira joined Ryuji in asserting a spot closer to the register.

“So,” Ryuji asked when they were safely ensconced in the cluster of people, “How was it?”

Akira shrugged. “It was… not outwardly momentous.”

“What's that mean?”

“It means what it means. It was great. But I can't really say more than that. You probably wouldn't think it too great.”

“Yeah, why not?” Ryuji asked. “Your dates too sophisticated for me?”

Akira cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “No. Come on, let's order first.”

“Aight, man, but you're not getting out of this that easy.”

When they returned bearing their food, the group had expanded yet again, but Ryuji found that neither he nor Akira seemed truly surprised by the simple fact that Yusuke was there. They were a little surprised with the crab he was holding. They were most caught off-guard by the girl standing a mere inch away from him.

“Surprised to see you here, Togo,” Akira said.

“Oh, ah—Kurusu,” Yusuke's companion said, “Yes, well, Kitagawa and I ran into each other at the beach. We caught a crab, as you can see.”

“That I can see,” Akira muttered. He handed Makoto her food and Ryuji passed Mishima his order.

“Hifumi's tactics were superb,” Yusuke said, “I learned much today about the movements of crustaceans.”

“You are too kind,” Hifumi said.

“Uh, that's great and all,” Ryuji interjected, “And I'm not even going to ask about why you were catching a crab but, uh, you sure that guy's alright? He's, like, foaming. Isn't that a bad sign?”

“It's not rabid, if that's what you're worried about.”

Ryuji and the others turned to Mishima.

“They produce foam to help themselves function when away from the water for long. It's no harm to you but depending on what you're planning for it, you might want to get it back in water.”

“Oh,” Yusuke said, concern darkening his brow. “That would complicate the prospect of using it as a live subject.”

“What,” Ryuji said, “Were you going to paint it in your hotel room? 'Cause no way you're getting that into the plane.”

It was clear from Yusuke's expression that he had not thought this through. And with how Hifumi was smiling awkwardly, she'd probably not thought it through either, whatever her involvement in the painter boy's schemes.

“Well,” she said, taking charge at the very least, “I'll go return it to the water. You enjoy the rest of the evening with your friends, Yusuke.”

“Of course,” Yusuke said, handing the crab over to her.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Hifumi said to him. She swept up everyone else with a quick glance, bowed with practiced ease and then spun on her heel and left.

Akira watched with that studying smirk of his, but Ryuji couldn't keep as cool. “What the hell, man!” He threw an arm out wide in the direction Hifumi had left in. “You just let her go?”

“I could hardly detain her, what with the crab,” Yusuke said.

“Then go with her!”

“She was clearly taking her leave,” Yusuke said, “It would be rude to impose.”

Ryuji turned imploringly to the others. Akira could only shrug,

“I suppose he's right in his own way,” Makoto said. “That said, I should get going, as well. I have some things to prepare related to my chaperoning duties. I'll see you all tomorrow, too. And, I should probably say this: don't stay out too late.”

“I can walk you back,” Akira said.

“Thank you, but it's just as well you stick to your roommate from here on out. Don't worry. I can handle myself.”

“I can believe it,” Ryuji said.

Akira cast him a sidelong glance but didn't contest it. They bid Makoto a farewell.

Ryuji waited for her to vanish past the nearest streetlamp's light before picking up the conversation. “Okay, both of you: spill.”

Akira shrugged. “I already said, there's nothing I can say.”

“Did I miss something?” Yusuke asked.

“Probably,” Ryuji said, “But not as much as we did. Who was that and when did you meet her?”

“Hifumi Togo. She sat beside me on the flight here. That's also, coincidentally, where we met.”

“What. The. Hell.” Ryuji said. “One day and you've got her sidling up to you? What kind of tricks are you pulling? Oh, did the workouts turn out extra well for yeah, huh? But you're not even showing the results.” He punched Yusuke's stomach through the thin fabric of his hoodie.

Yusuke swatted his arm away. “I was not trying to seduce Miss Togo, if that's what you're implying. Some people enjoy intellectual pursuits, not just physical ones.”

“Oh yeah? Fine. Say what you want,” Ryuji said. He drew back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Now that you've got finer company to spend your last Hawaii night with, it's no good sinking to my level, huh? Too sophisticated and subtle for me, right? Tch. Thought we, at least, were past that.”

Ryuji whirled away from their table and stalked away toward the boulevard. He went on walking right across the boulevard to the edge of the beach, kicked his slippers off and stumbled toward the beach. As he reached the bottom of the incline where the dry and wet sand met, he heard another pair of feet land with a muffled thud behind him. He stopped and drew out a long breath.

Footsteps in the sand, drawing up beside him.

He sighed. “Can't just leave me alone, can ya? Go on, I bet Mishima wants to get back to the room.”

“He can probably wait. He's been worried about you too, you know? Sent me a message earlier saying you looked out of sorts. But don't tell him I told you he told me.”

Ryuji turned sideways, facing Akira in the long shadows of distant lamplight. “It's nothing, a'ight? I didn't sleep well last night is all.”

“Yuuki didn't sleep well and he's not throwing a fit,” Akira said. “Come on. What's eating you?”

Ryuji stared out at the water. The moonlight lay silver gilt on the crests of waves, heaving their gentle rhythm in the black of the ocean. As Ryuji closed his eyes, the susurrus of their swell and ebb engulfed his mind. Out of the night of his thoughts emerged a vision of pale curves outlined by the light spilling through the slit where the curtains didn't quite meet; the rise and fall not of waves in the breeze, but of steady, slumbering sighs; toes curling around blanket cloth and fingers folding creases into bedsheets. Ryuji opened his eyes and loosed a breath he'd been holding.

“Ann and I made it to our rooms today without anyone noticing,” Ryuji said.

“Good,” Akira said.

“Or so I thought,” Ryuji said. “One of Ann's roommates was returning around that time and apparently saw the two of us sneaking through the hallway. She thought what, well, I guess most people would think.”

“I see,” Akira said.

After a moment, Ryuji continued. “I mean, I guess I stared a bit before I woke her up, because, man, who wouldn't, but I don't think of her like that. I mean, not just like that. I'm not _that_ kinda guy, you know. I mean, come on, what's wrong with appreciating a body?”

Akira put a hand on Ryuji's shoulder.

“I mean, I'll believe it if she says she's a natural, but I know she works for it, too. She's been running more track with me than you guys, you know?”

“Impressive,” Akira said. “So how much _have_ you been running?”

“Been running enough,” Ryuji said with a dour chuckle. “But my point is… I mean, I think it's like, is that really all people are going to see of me? Just another thirsty punk tryna score with the hottest bod on campus? Is that all _she's_ going to see in me? Because damn it all to hell, I'm _more_ than—”

“Ryuji.” Akira tightened his grip on Ryuji's shoulder and then slowly released it, letting his hand drop back down to his side. “She doesn't think that. I don't either and neither does anyone that matters. Some people will think that. No helping it. But obviously, you know there's more to it than that.”

Ryuji remained silent.

“There is more to you than that,” Akira said. “Don't beat yourself up over it.”

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yeah, come on. What makes you so sure I'm not just another guy who thinks he loves a girl when all he really wants is to screw her?”

“Because of the dolphin incident.”

“Shut up. That's an easy answer. Give me something else.”

Akira chuckled. “Because you might gawk like everyone else, but you're the only guy I know who'd turn down a date from Ann without skipping a beat and tell her she's a loser. You're about the only guy whose breath doesn't catch when she stands up from her chair a certain way. And finally,” Akira said, gathering a breath into himself, “when the shadow version of Ann showed up in Kamoshida's palace, I felt my pupils dilate a full inch or so. I looked at you then, trying to confirm what I was seeing, but in your face was this… this kind of complete unrecognition. Or rather, a complete recognition of the fakeness of that cognition. I see you in how you see her, Ryuji. And I know you feel what _you know_ you feel. Okay?”

Ryuji nodded. “Huh. That was, uh... yeah. That wasn't an easy answer, I guess.” He took a step forward and stretched his arms upward and out. A few seconds stretched out around them.

“So, uh, how did things go with Makoto?”

“Really not letting this go?”

“Not letting this go.”

Akira sighed. “Fine. But I'll explain on the way back. Yusuke and Yuuki are probably wondering what's been going on.”

Ryuji felt a light impact as Akira threw a halfhearted punch into his shoulder and the crunch of a foot stepping into sand. He came to a decision, then, acknowledging that they would have no more nights in Hawaii and he would have no more chances to exact his revenge on this ocean that taunted him with its gentle surges and recessions, which reminded him of a girl who stole breaths and heartbeats from him like nobody's business. And so before Akira could take another step away, he seized him by the shoulder and pulled him along, stumbling to keep up, to the shallows, where he pushed the other boy into a coming wave—no smugness on his face now—before throwing himself into the waves as well with a cry of triumph and abandon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With how long this was, it could probably have been two chapters, but it didn't feel right splitting it up, what with one-day-in-Hawaii being the focal idea.  
> Still feel like I'm trying to hit my stride with this one, but hope you all liked it.  
> P.S. If you're not familiar with Futaba's references in this one, you could look up "crab battle"


	3. Bad Foot Forward (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers are fraying following Morgana's parting from the Phantom Thieves. Ryuji tries to handle the fallout of treating Morgana like the ass he is, while Akira struggles to keep the Thieves operating smoothly as they bring the rogue agent in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the chapter title indicates, this chapter and the one that will follow it were supposed to be presented as one. However: 1) their combined length will likely match the first two chapters; and 2) revising the last two scenes to a satisfactory quality will likely take quite some time more. Rather than hurry the completion of this segment--Morgana's betrayal of the Thieves, so to speak--I've decided to post these two scenes first.

“Ann!” Ryuji shouted, “Ann, wait!” But the rain had drowned his voice; the crowd had swept her from his view. Ryuji pivoted with a curse and kicked the ground, his foot breaking a puddle and sending up a spray of grimy water. A man in its path jumped back with a cry dampened by the rain. Ryuji grumbled a perfunctory apology and hunched deeper into a nod, then turned away without meeting the man's face. But a firm hand fell upon his shoulder before he could move a step. He bit back a curse and turned, still not lifting his gaze for fear of the anger it would betray, and repeated with forced evenness, “I'm sorry.”

“Oh?” The voice that replied was more amused than angry. “That a fact?”

Ryuji looked up. From below a high forehead webbed with wet hair, a pair of eyes as black and electric as the thunderheads above regarded him with curiosity. “Se—” Ryuji bit the word back, the anger unwinding from his face. “Ikeda?”

The young man smirked and dropped his hand. He drew close enough that Ryuji could hear him over the rain. “Looks like you're having a rough night.”

With the rain soaking through his hair, his too-thin jacket, and all the way down to his stained sneakers, Ikeda was hardly the image of unburdened ease and yet, Ryuji had to acknowledge, there was no trace of frustration in his aspect. Ryuji nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”

With a jerk of his thumb, Ikeda motioned for Ryuji to follow. Though the Shibuya crowd was packed shoulder to damp shoulder, the rainwater had somehow managed to find the floor in great enough volume to soak through their shoes. After some minutes forging their way through the crowd, they gained the solace of an underpass. After , Ikeda walked a few blocks down a main road before turning into a narrow alley. He walked purposefully under dripping overhangs to a narrow staircase that he ascended with ease and then paused to open the glass door at the top. “Dry your shoes,” he said to Ryuji, then dragged his own across the rubber welcome mat twice.

The restaurant was fairly typical, despite its somewhat inauspicious front. Several close-set seats were arranged by the walls and in a narrow column down the middle. By the sallow light that bathed the room, Ryuji could see that around half the seats had occupants, even a pair as soaked through as they were.

They took a seat near the corner. A waiter brought them menus.

“This one's on me,” Ikeda said, before placing his order. “One large sutameshi.”

Ryuji followed suit. The waiter acknowledged their orders, retrieved their menus, and hurried off to relay it to the kitchen.

“Finally!” Ikeda said. He leaned back and stretched his arms out as far as propriety would allow. “I got so caught up in a paper due this afternoon that I forgot about the forecast and left my umbrella. Well, serves me right for cramming, I guess. 'Bout you?”

“Uh, well… It got lost.”

“Well, that's tough,” he said with a chuckle. “I come here every now and then after a workout. Food's pretty good and cheap enough for a college student. And I don't think you'll run into anyone you know here; it's pretty far from where high-schoolers usually hang out.”

“Uh, right,” Ryuji said. “Listen, se—Ikeda. I can pay for my own fo—”

“Come off it, Ryuji. Accepting generosity is a courtesy, too.”

“Well, if ya say so,” Ryuji said.

“As I was saying, I didn't really find this gem until I started college and I've yet to see any faces I know from Shujin here. Which means,” he drew out the word, and then pinched it with a smirk. “We can get right to it. What was it? Lovers' quarrel?”

“No!” A nearby diner turned his head toward Ryuji's cry. Ryuji grimaced and crouched closer to the table. He said, softer, “No.”

“Oh? Alright. But that was Takamaki, wasn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought so. Can't miss that hair anywhere. So what happened then?”

“Eh.” Ryuji straightened up, relatively. “Guess you could say… a disagreement?”

“A fight?”

Ryuji shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“But she took off pretty quick.”

Ryuji nodded.

“I see. So what were the two of you up to? And I don't mean to imply anything. Just, I know you two have been acquainted for some time—and it's the second time I've seen you two together in a couple of months—but you hardly seem to mix. Like water and, I dunno, waterproof mascara? ”

“That's a pretty lame metaphor,” Ryuji said.

“Simile. And it's better than any you'd come up with.”

“Whatever. Anyway, she asked me for help with a workout plan to help her be a better model. We've been running or going to the gym just about every day.”

“That so? Well, you do look like you're staying in shape. So, how's it going?”

“Uh, good. I guess? Her stamina's, like, doubled or something. And she picks up on stuff pretty quick, so her form's good too.”

“Her form's good.”

“Yeah.”

“You mean her form? Or,” he raised an eyebrow, “her _form_?”

“I mean how she does the exercises, man! What the hell!”

“Right, of course.” Ikeda laughed. “But okay, what about the other form, then?”

Ryuji shrugged. “Eh, same as always, I guess. I mean, you know Ann.”

“Same as always? That's disappointing.”

Ryuji narrowed his eyes. He felt his muscles tighten a fraction; his pulse quicken a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, aren't you training her so that she can model better?” He matched Ryuji's glare with a gaze like lightning. “If she's 'the same as always,' I'd say you're doing a pretty shoddy job.”

Ryuji grit his teeth but, a moment later, sank back into his seat. “It's hard to tell, okay? I mean, like, where am I supposed to look? If I try to spot it myself, I'll just look like a creep. I I ask her, I'll just sound like one.”

“Well, we can start with what she wanted. Legs? Belly? Quads? You just need to keep things professional. Unless,” he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “You can't get past the personal?”

“Look, I already told ya—”

“Excuse me,” a waiter said, his rapid pronouncements cutting right through Ryuji's response. He placed a large bowl of steaming rice and meat each in front of the two. “Two large sutameshi. Is there anything else?”

“That'll do for now,” Ikeda said.

“Then please enjoy your meal,” the waiter said before darting away again.

“Well, let's dig in,” Ikeda said.

For the next few minutes, they busied themselves with their food, matching each other spoonful for spoonful in a dash to sate their stomachs. The only sounds at their table were the tapping of chopsticks on ceramic, the muffled mashing of food in stuffed mouths, the deep breaths that punctuated their spoonfuls. And now and then, the waiters call as another customer entered or left.

“And Ikeda clocks in a full minute before Sakamoto!”

“What the hell?!” Ryuji said around a mouthful of rice as his companion planted his chopsticks across the diameter of his bowl. “This ain't a race, dude!”

“Furthermore,” Ikeda said with an exaggerated grimace, “Sakamoto is disqualified for unsportsmanly conduct.”

“Shut up!” Ryuji said, before scarfing down the last few mouthfuls of his order.

“Another?” Ikeda asked. “Not on me this time, though.”

“Nah, I'm good. Servings here are pretty big.”

“That they are. Well, it sounds like it's still raining, so we might as well hang around a bit longer.” He cast his eyes about the room. “At least until or unless this place starts filling up. So, you and Ann.”

“Right. Where were we?”

“You and Ann had a spat.”

“Well, I guess that's close enough to where we were.”

Ikeda sighed. “Well, alright, maybe I can help you out. What happened?”

“Hey, no need to burden yourself on my account,” Ryuji said. “She'll sleep it off and things will be fine.”

“Oh,”Ikeda said. He pulled away with a look of mock horror. “I had no idea you regularly made girls walk out on you. Forgive my presumptuousness.”

Ryuji groaned. “Alright. Dammit, it sounds terrible when you put it like that.”

“It did look, well… I mean it's in the normal range of couples quarreling, but that's still pretty bad.”

“How many times I gotta tell you we're not together?”

“Just a few more, though if you keep that attitude up, I figure you'll be stuck having to deny it the rest of your life. That your goal, Sakamoto?”

Ryuji groaned. “Damn, I'm not sure where to begin.”

“Take your time.”

Ryuji settled back in his seat, thinking back to what had happened earlier in the evening, the words he and Ann had exchanged, the sudden outburst. He wracked his memory for the grains of truth that would fill in the gaps: what was she mad about?

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, “I should start by telling you my friend—that is, my friend lost his cat.”

“Go on,” Ikeda said.

“Well, he's Ann's friend too and I guess you could say we've all kinda bonded with that cat. Like, you know, sometimes it's almost like a person? Almost. And, well, I guess the cat likes Ann a lot, too. Anyway, that happened, and she and the others have been pretty bummed about it.

“So I guess that's kind of the background situation here. We've been trying to get the cat back but it, uh, doesn't want to come back. Got pretty violent too. 'Course it could be a problem if he stays that way, since he's just one cat against, uh, all the dangers of the world..?”

“So it wanders far but you've at least spotted it a few times since it's left?”

“Yeah, that. But what can we do about it, right? I mean, he'll come around when he does. You can't force this sorta thing, especially not with guys like him. The more you push, the more they push back.”

Ikeda chuckled. “That's pretty much every cat, in my experience.”

“Yeah, well this one's like that turned up to eleven. So Ann and I were at the gym as usual but she was kinda distracted. You know how I said she learns fast and has good form? Well, not today. Man, she was all over the place: dropping weights, bending all wrong, almost throwing out her back, probably. It was a mess.

“So I told her we should wrap things up get going. She tried to argue at first, but it was clear we weren't getting anywhere. If we kept up like that, we'd have done more harm than good, right?”

“Right,” Ikeda said.

“So I showered, changed, all that. We usually meet up back at the lobby sorta place afterward, but I didn't see her there. So I checked back inside, hung around a bit. Finally, one of the trainers must've figured out what was up and he told me Ann was outside.

“So I went outside, but I still didn't see her. I looked around, of course, went up to the first corner on the left, then back over to the corner on the right, that sort of thing. I ran into her three blocks down when it was already raining. She was already starting to get soaked through and you could—I mean, white shirts and rain, you know. And there she is, as always, oblivious as hell. So I handed her my umbrella and that's when I notice she smells kinda weird. Funky.

“I asked her about it and she said she was pretty sure she saw Morgana—the cat—and tried to follow him. Well, fair enough, but she could've at least told me where she was going. No call, not message. Nothing. But wasn't worth getting worked up over, so I just told her we should eat and maybe head home early.

“She didn't really say anything but she went along with it. I told her to pick somewhere she wanted to eat. You know, lift her spirits or whatever. But she wouldn't answer anything, just grunt or be all 'anywhere, really.' And I tried to think of places but couldn't really come up with anything, either. Well, in the end we decided to go to one of our old favorites, this ramen place just past Koen Street—”

“Oh, the one with the, uh, spice thing?”

“Yeah, that one. Not bad, right? Well, it was all I could come up with and I was just hoping it wouldn't be full. We had to backtrack a bit, though, and then she suddenly took off again. I lost her in the crowd and it took me, like, ten minutes to find her again? And she was rooting through some alley or something, which of course explained the smell. So I ran in and pulled her out of there. She thought she'd seen Morgana again, but it was another cat. I got it to come out so I could prove it to her.”

“You got it to come out?” Ikeda nodded expectantly.

“Yeah.”

“I mean how?”

“Oh, it was hiding under a bunch of crates. Probably got left out before the rain or something and whoever left 'em didn't want to get wet bringing them back in. More sense than some people. Anyway, I just gave the crates a few good shakes and it showed right up. Wasn't Morgana. It had maybe two black spots on it, for the love of— Anyway, I dragged her back out of there and that's when I realized the umbrella was missing. Long story short, she put it down while looking for the cat and somebody probably saw his chance and stole it.

“So there we were. Kind of a cliché, huh? Hungry, soaking, miserable. So I said, hey, let's just call it a night and head home before we get our muscles sore or catch cold or whatever. She seemed to be okay with this. I mean, she stood up and followed me, so I figured, hey she must be cool with it right? Then we passed a store with umbrellas, same kind as the one I'd lost, and I stopped just a bit to think about getting one. But these are the high quality ones. Cheaper in the long run, since they last, but I wasn't really thinking 'bout the long run, right? I was thinking I had just enough in my wallet for dinner and a train ride home, maybe.

“That's where she lost it. I was just thinking out loud, 'damn, another one's going to set me back a lot,' and she just flips. Said she'd buy one for me herself. Almost walked into the damn store but then she turned around and started shouting about how selfish I was. Got some people looking too. I tried to calm her down, but she wouldn't have that. I mean—and I told her this—I actually gave her the umbrella. I was the one looking out for her while she was hellbent on chasing cats. And it wasn't me that was up and leaving people without a word. And… well, that's where you caught us. She just left.”

Ikeda sighed. “Well, you at least realize why she's upset?”

Ryuji shrugged. “Who knows. Much as I ever will, I guess, whatever that counts for.”

Ikeda shook his head. “Come on, Ryuji, you can't be that dense. You can draw the necessary inferences.”

“Come on, Ikeda, you know I'm no good with words.”

“Really? Last time we met you specifically said you were 'learning' your words and shit.'”

“I did?” Ryuji groaned. “Why you gotta remember things like that? Can't you, like, just be good at two things, like the rest of us?”

“Sorry, but we jacks of all trades have to give you masters of one a run for your money every now and then.”

Ryuji sighed. “Alright, then. So what's the deal? What do I do about it?”

“Heck if I know, Sakamoto. I don't know Takamaki.”

“What the hell?! So what was all this about?”

“Getting you to think through this. Look, I may not have been the best role model for you on the team, but at the very least, I was watching you. I know you. You're a runner through and through, Sakamoto. You don't think things through, just run—either away from them or headlong into them.” He paused. “Think things through sometimes. Walk instead of running. You've got to match your pace to hers.”

Ryuji was silent a moment. “I guess. Not sure I can. Her pace feels beyond me sometimes, you know?”

“What, too fast for Ryuji Sakamoto, Shujin's track star?”

“Hey, man, it's a metaphor! And anyway, it's former track star now. Ain't going anywhere fast with this bad leg.”

Ikeda shook his head. “You might think so, but you never know. You know how they say it's always darkest just before the dawn?”

“Yeah? You think that's true?”

“In a sense. It makes itself true. The moment it starts getting lighter is when dawn really begins. That's why the light's coming back at all. So naturally, until it starts getting lighter, it's either getting darker or it's stopped because it' can't get any darker. So of course the saying's true.”

“Uh-huh. I'm maybe following you. I think. How does that help me, exactly?”

“Well, you know how they say 'put your best foot forward?'”

“Sure.”

“Well, of course you do. You do that in running, too, right?”

“I… guess? Huh, never really thought of that. I mean, you can be right-handed, but you can't be, like, right-footed, can ya?”

“Doesn't matter,” Ikeda said. “Since you can't run all on one foot.”

“Obviously.”

“Exactly. You get it. Almost. You have to put your best foot forward, but you also have to bring the other one ahead of that. And repeat the cycle. How many steps do you take in a race? About half of those are made with your worse foot. Your bad one, as it were. So every time you're running a race, you end up putting your bad foot forward—not just once or twice, but half the time. Are you getting it now?”

“I… guess? No. I don't know! Why do you have to mess up perfectly good figures of speech, man?!”

“Because nothing's perfect or perfectly good,” Ikeda said, laughing. “You're both running races, Ryuji. Match your pace with hers. And remember that sometimes, a lot of times, you have to put your bad foot forward.”

Ryuji was still pondering Ikeda's strange, subversive idioms when they parted ways outside the restaurant, as he walked streets, which were finally, fortunately dry, and boarded the train going home. The answer, it seemed, was coming to him. But soon after arriving home, he discovered, courtesy of his mother, that such pithy lines were a poor defense for tracking rainwater all over the floor and losing an umbrella.

 

***

 

“Damn it!” Skull shouted. He set off after the swiftly vanishing echo of the van's roar, footfalls crunching loudly in the scree.

“Skull!” Joker called. “Get back here!”

“He's getting away!” Skull shouted, slowing, but not stopping.

“And we're not catching him like this.”

Skull slowed to a halt, spitting a curse that echoed in the trackless depths of the tunnels. He dashed his foot against the scree, sending pebbles flying, pinging off the steel tracks, clattering back into the rail bed. Joker strode toward him with purpose but without hurry. Behind him, the others fell in: Queen and Panther, then Fox and Oracle.

“...fumes smell like tuna?” Oracle was saying.

“Nonsense,” Fox said, “You're pulling my leg.”

“Inari, no one uses that phrase anymore.”

“Fox, Oracle, minds on the target,” Joker said, “And it can't smell like tuna; we haven't fed him that in weeks.”

“We haven't fed him anything in days,” Futaba shot back. “Who knows what he's eating?”

“Sound, but still off-topic,” Joker said. “Let's follow the thread, shall we? We have a Ghibli ripoff to catch.”

“Given that we're facing a car,” Fox said, “doesn't it seem rather reckless to chase him on foot?”

“You sure give up easy,” Oracle said. Her fingers were tapping at air and every now and then her head would twitch in one direction or another. “There are dead ends all over this floor. We can do this if we manage to corner him in one.

“Check it.” She whipped out her phone and presented a map rendered in angular, dark green polygons. A red hat was blinking in one; a yellow paw print, in another.

“You can still track Mona?” Joker said.

“I know what his persona feels like, so yeah. It'll be trouble if he reaches another floor, though. We should stop him before then.”

“Well, with the way he's going, he'll likely go here or here.” Queen pointed at two spots on the map. “Whichever it is way, we have a chance to force him into a dead end. This one would be better, since he'd have less space to maneuver.”

“Can we reach him before he gets to the intersection?” Joker said.

“I could ride ahead in Johanna. Someone could accompany me and we could close off the undesirable routes.”

“You two might run into shadows.”

“There are no real threats on this floor.”

“And your stamina? Will you be able to last with your persona out that long?”

“I can handle this much. Besides, I have that patch you got. As long as he doesn't drag this out, we'll be fine.”

Joker considered this a while, his eyes tracking the steady movement of Mona's yellow paw print across Oracle's phone display. Queen wasn't one to misjudge her capabilities. At worst, she and whoever went with her would be evenly matched against Mona and his novice accomplice. But if he was sending her ahead, it would be with the odds tilted as far in her favor as possible

“Alright,” he said, bringing a hand up and, with the other, adjusting its glove. The other Thieves drew closer, listening with rapt attention. “Oracle has a read on Mona. She'll guide us through Mementos to trap him in a dead-end. Queen will take point; Panther will support her. Fox—”

“Hold on,” Skull said, “I'm the fastest runner here. I should be on point.”

“And send him running off again?” Panther interjected. “Or worse, running you over. I don't think so.”

“Oh, come on,” Skull said. “He wouldn't actually run us over.”

“His accomplice is another story. And anyway, your speed would be better served closing the gap between us and Queen.”

“So who'll be going with me then?” Queen asked.

Joker nodded at Panther. “Someone Mona would absolutely never get violent with. Skull and I will bring up the rear, rounding out the strike team. The advance party is to stall until we can catch up. I'll handle negotiations. Fox, you're on reserve. Keep any threats off Oracle. Understood?”

The others chorused their assent.

“Then we have a cat to trap.”

Queen called out her persona, which appeared amid a flash of blue light and the roaring of its engine. She and Panther took off, stones trembling in their wake, and were soon engulfed by the shadows.

“Us, then,” Joker said. He exchanged a nod with Skull and the two of them set off. Joker kept a moderate pace, which he found quite easy, thanks to the training they'd carried out the past month. He cast a glance over his shoulder, and saw Fox and Oracle following at an easier pace, receding second by second into the darkness. Even when they'd vanished, their voices carried through the hollows of the tunnels.

“So when we're apart,” Fox was saying, “the hat is Joker?”

“Yeah,” Oracle replied.

“And Skull is… You can't be serious.”

“Huh. Thought you'd agree.”

In the space of a few seconds, even their voices and footfalls had passed beyond sense. Joker counted ten seconds, then slowed his pace a fraction. He tapped Skull on the shoulder; he caught on and fell in pace beside Joker.

“Listen, Skull. I know it's not intentional, but you have to stop aggravating the situation.”

“Aggravating it? Man, I apologized. Can't help it if Mona's just a total ass right now.”

“I know he's being  total ass!" Joker took a breath to steady himself. "But see, that kind of attitude won't get us anywhere.”

“But it's how Mona and I always talk! I thought the whole point was to, you know, make things normal again.”

“'Normal' is what got him to leave. We have to tread lightly. Besides, Mona's not at his normal self either. He's a bit off-balance, as you must've noticed. Lay off the sass for a while.”

“I don't do 'sass,' man.”

“Oh?” Joker coughed loudly. When he spoke next, it was a passable mocking of Skull's cadence. “ _I d_ _on't_ _mind if you're useless or not human!_ Great diplomacy there.”

“Hey, I—”

Their exchange was cut short by Oracle's voice, sounding both close and distant, thick with distortion. “Contact!” she said. “Joker, they've passed him. Queen, you'll reach the intersection in a few meters. Take the far side of the tunnel. Panther, you take the left.”

“Hold on,” Joker said, “If you're still tracking Mona, is there a chance he can here you?”

“Nope. Oh—No, that's right. I mean, Queen, right. Joker, nope. Mona can't hear us. Ugh, you'd think this thing could just do conference calls. Wonder if that's a higher level feature.”

“Right,” Joker said. He turned to Skull, “Let's just get this over with, shall we?”

The two of them sprinted forward, stride by stone-crunching stride, plunging into the darkness. Oracle's voice pierced the silence intermittently, keeping them aware of the situation they were headed into: the target had reached the tunnel's end; Queen had gone in just past the tunnel's entrance; Panther had scouted ahead to ascertain the target's condition.

It was several seconds before Joker and Skull reached the intersection, and they likely would have missed it in the shadows, had Queen not kept Johanna there, her rather literal headlight glowing dully. Queen dismissed her persona as the two other approached and proceeded with them.

It was only a few seconds before they saw the faint glow of Mona's headlights lighting up the tunnel. As they approached, Panther unfolded from one of the shadows and did not so much fall into step behind them as alight gently upon it. Joker stopped just outside the cone of the beams and held up a hand. He caught Skull's gaze and waved him off to the father side of the tunnel. He motioned for Queen to take the other flank and then beckoned Panther to follow.

He shielded his gaze with one gloved hand until he stood where the beams did not blind him. Morgana thrummed menacingly at the tunnel's end, the faceless silhouette of the Beauty Thief visible through his windshield.

“Mona!” Panther called out as they approached. Mona revved his engine in response. “Mona, will you listen?”

“I have nothing to say to you!” He shouted. And then, with a screech and a rattle of flying pebbles, he burst forward, swerving hard to the right, toward him. There was a brief moment when his vision was swallowed up entirely by the beams of light and the world seemed to fall away in a directionless void. And only a deep voice whispering _Not your time_ reminded him to move. He leaped to the side, landing hard on the scree just as Morgana careered past him and off into the tunnel.

“Joker!” Queen was there, one arm hooked under his torso, lifting him off the sharp, otherworldly pebbles.

“Shit!” Skull shouted, staring down the tunnel, where only purple afterimages remained of Mona's taillights. “He actually tried to run us down.”

“Sheesh!” Panther said, “what would he have done if he ran us over?”

“He didn't,” Joker said, “And that's that. Oracle, status?”

“There are two intersections ahead. Our next step depends on which one Mona takes. He's too far ahead for you to head him off yet.”

“We're not closing distance standing still. Skull, take point.”

“What?” It was only a moment before his dazed expression was split by a manic grin. “Alright! Damn straight I will.”

Without another word, he crouched down and launched himself down the tunnel. Panther followed as well as she could—faster than Joker would have expected with her shoes.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Queen said. “I can take you on Johanna.”

“Won't refuse the ride, if you're still good to go.”

Queen helped him to his feet and then summoned her persona. As Johanna appeared with its omen of pale light and roaring combustion, she mounted with a fluid swing of her leg across the chassis.

Joker got on behind her. He placed his hands on her waist and leaned in closer so that only she could hear as he whispered, “When this is over, I'm neutering that cat myself.”


	4. Bad Foot Forward (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana's back in the fold, but Ryuji's troubles aren't quite over. It's going to be a long night--and the thing about long nights is they tend to stretch into long mornings.

“You said what?!” Morgana sprang onto the low table, only to sway feebly for a moment, before his legs gave way and he folded onto the wood.

Ryuji roared with laughter. Yusuke and Ann laughed as well, though Futaba seemed nonplussed.

“I was joking,” Akira said. “It's kind of in the codename, you know?”

“Gotta admit, though,” Ryuji said, “You'd kinda deserve it.”

“Yeah?” Morgana sat up and brandished a claw. “How bout I cut yours loose, huh?”

“Please, let's not have any of that,” Akira said. “You two having a go at each others' treasures would give me nightmares.”

Ann groaned. “Did you have to? I don't want to be thinking of  _ that _ every time someone mentions treasures.”

“I'm not the one telling you what to imagine,” Akira said with a shrug.

Ann lobbed his pillow at him. “Yeah, maybe we should leave you with Ryuji and Morgana to do some  _ treasured _ male bonding.”

Akira caught the pillow—easier than chalk, to be sure—and without looking, tossed it at Morgana, who collapsed underneath its fluffy weight.

“Well, I don't really need another reason to leave after hearing that,” Ryuji said, “but if I don't get going now, I'm going to miss the train.”

The others checked their phones as well and, having confirmed the hour, stood, excusing themselves and exchanging farewells. Amid the hubbub, Akira noticed Haru glancing uncertainly about. Futaba did, as well, and no sooner had their eyes met than she unfolded herself from atop her chair, and approached their latest contact.

“You can stay at my place,” she said. “I'll arrange it with Sojiro.”

“Thank you,” Haru said. “It will just be for the night. I'll have things cleared up by tomorrow.”

Akira saw them off at the cafe's entrance, locked the door, and flipped the sign. He watched them go and once they vanished into the alley, he went behind the bar and pulled an apron off the rack. While his hands worked the strings behind his back with practiced ease, he scanned the labels on the jars of blends and unmixed beans, weighing the mystery of Sojiro's experimental blends against the more reliable appeal of Colombian arabica.

A soft thud interrupted his musing. He turned around, met Morgana's gaze, and held it a while. “You must be tired after today,” Akira said, “You should go to sleep.”

Morgana flicked his tail. “And how long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“About three months now.”

“Hah.” He lay himself out flat on the counter. “Should I take your late night brewing as a sign of rebellion too?”

“I'm not brewing. Not yet, anyway.” He returned to his survey of the jars.

“Hey,” Morgana said, “I guess I said it already, but I'm sorry. I feel like there are other things I owe you an apology for. More than with the others.”

Akira took his time with his response, lifting a half-empty jar of Ethiopian and assessing its aroma. “Like nearly running me over?”

“We both know you wouldn't have been caught by that. But yeah, that.”

He placed the jar on the counter and gathered the necessary equipment. A pair of metal cups, a glass server, a flatbottom and paper filters. “Did I miss anything?” his hand hovered over the items.

“Kettle,” Morgana said.

“Right.” He retrieved one that was drying from its perch on the rack. He set about the preparations, measuring out beans and water, warming the vessels. At length, he spoke: “Morgana.”

The erstwhile cat turned away from the server, which Akira was heating with an initial dose of hot water. His tail slashed the air in jerky motions.

“When we founded the group, we had one tenet. Just one.”

Morgana shrank. “I know.”

He ran the beans through the grinder. Just a little coarse. “So?”

“We act unanimously,” Morgana said, “Or not at all.”

Akira nodded. He poured the grounds into the filter, then tamped them even. “I'm sure you won't forget again.”

“I won't,” Morgana said.

Akira set up the server and the filter, picked up the kettle. He looked around distractedly, put the kettle back down, and then started pulling over drawers, hunching over to inspect their contents.

“Pretty sorry sight, aren't I? The one place I belong and I went and tore it up.”

“Don't be so melodramatic. You don't have the power to tear the Phantom Thieves apart. But with you running about, we had to break the rules, too—acting on unanimous minus one. Ah, finally.” He pulled out a thermometer and stuck it into the water. Satisfied with the reading, he tilted the kettle over the filter and poured the water in gentle spirals over the grounds. When he glanced over at Morgana, he found him facing away, back quivering slightly.

“Don't take it so hard,” Akira said. “It's not like we're taking away all of your independence. You can still prowl around and kill rats and do other non-larcenous acts. Heck, you could even move out someday—I'm sure there's an apartment out there with your name on it.”

Morgana laughed feebly. “Well, someone's eager to get rid of me.”

Akira shrugged. “Could use the privacy.”

“The bathroom has all the space you and your beloved right hand need.”

“Who said it was for my hand?”

“The Boss would kill you if you brought anyone over.”

“Perhaps.” He set the kettle aside and watched as the last of the water seeped slowly through the filter. He wondered if there were some augury to be had in the topography of the wet grounds left behind. “But I've dodged death once today. I figure I can manage it again.”

 

Ryuji woke to the blaring of his cellphone, feeling like his head had hit the pillow mere minutes ago. He opened his eyes just long enough to see where his phone was and then shut then and grabbed it blindly. He thumbed the lower half of the screen until the ringing stopped and—“Ryuji!” The shrill voice buffeted his thoughts in their drowsy vessel. “Finally. Get ready, quick.”

“Ann?” he groaned. “What you talkin' bout? Ready for what?”

“To go,” she said, the volume of her voice back within acceptable bounds.

“Go where?”

“With me. I'll be there in like twenty minutes. I'll explain when I get there, so just get ready, okay? It's urgent! I'll make it up to you.”

“What's 'ready?' What am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, take a shower? and throw on some clean clothes? Look, I have to get ready too. See you. Twenty minutes!”

Ryuji stared at the phone as the line went quiet. The clock displayed 2:14. He was right. It had in fact been little more than two hours since he'd dragged himself through the door, tiptoed through his mother's waiting questions, and then curled into his futon. That and other scenes from the previous night came to him in fragments.

_Are you serious? We've got less than fifteen minutes—_

_Well it's either that, or I'll be stumbling along till we get there. Or what, were you going to carry me?_

_W-what—_

_Thought so. So quit whining and let's move. I'll only be a minute._

And then, as if that hadn't been enough, now was this. Just as sudden and strange. And urgent.

Ryuji pulled himself off the futon and, quietly as possible, and grabbed some clothes from his closet. A proper bath was out of the question, so he got a small towel, too, and brought the items with him into their cramped bathroom. He ran the faucet at just a trickle to keep it quiet, and washed up as well as he could, scrubbing himself with the towel.

As he went through his haphazard ablutions, his mind cleared enough to properly question the situation. What could Ann need at two in the morning? Was she in trouble? Had her parents, distant as they were, kicked her out for coming home so late? But for all her urgency, there had been no distress in her voice. It was closer to excitement, if anything.

He left the bathroom no closer to his answers, but much closer to the 20-minute deadline. Stealthy as possible, he went back to his room, stuffed some essentials into his pockets, and then returned to the living room. On a memo pad by the door, he wrote a quick note to his mother, pulled it free and stuck it on the door to his room. The front door had hardly closed behind him when his phone rang.

“Ryuji!”

“I'm on my way down,” he hissed. He hurried toward the elevator.

“I'm at the entrance to—”

“Going down,” he said more forcefully.

“Oh, great! Look for the blue car.”

There was little looking for to be done, though. The minute Ryuji stepped out of the building, he caught sight of a sedan whose blueness was beyond question, resembling, as it did, a Bic highlighter. Ann was leaning out the rear window, waving her hand in wide arcs.

“Come on,” Ann said, scooting over so he could get in on the street side of the car. Two others were seated in front: a plump man with purplish glasses in the driver's seat; a slight, short-haired woman in the passenger seat. They acknowledged him with clipped gestures—a bow, a wave—and then the car sped off down the street.

“These are Togusa and Saito,” Ann said. “They're with the magazine.”

“The magazine..?”

“Yeah, you know. The one I've been shooting for recently.”

“Oh, right.”

“Geez, don't be so deadpan about it!” She smacked him hard in the shoulder.

“What the—”

“Anyway.” She frowned at him and almost imperceptibly shook her head left and right. Her tone remained as sweet as ever. “I was just telling them about our little encounter last night.”

“Wait, what? Why would—”

_Come on, already. You got them, didn't ya? Let's—_

_Ryuji, shut up for a minute._

_Hey! Let me—_

_Shh! Over there. Doesn't she look familiar?_

_Over wh—_

_Quiet! There. And don't be too be so obvious._

_What? That guy in the hoodie?_

_Not a guy. Pretty sure. Wait till she turns and—ohmygod._

_What?_

_Don't tell me you didn't see!_

_Err… I mean, it's a girl?_

_Not just any girl! That's got to be—_

“Tell them!” She said. “It was her, right?!”

The woman, Saito, gave him a sidelong look from the passenger's seat.

“Oh.” He slumped back into the seat. “Yeah. Definite—Wait a minute, weren't we supposed to keep that a secret?”

Ann shrugged. “What's it gonna change now? Besides, not like I'm spreading it to the world. These guys will keep it on the down-low for now. Right?”

“Sure,” Saito said, turning back to the road. “I mean, come on, it's Tokyo. Everyone gets these encounters sooner or later. Hell, I'll bet you've run into a dozen people you don't recognize who are famous for something or another, just something you're not into. Like this one time, I was with...”

Ann elbowed Ryuji lightly in the side. He whirled on her then saw her jerking her head downwards. With some difficulty, he skimmed over the view down her partly-buttoned collar and looked at the phone on her lap, which she was discreetly typing into.

[Sorry about dragging you out here. Akira was supposed to come but I'm sure he's tired from the Morgana thing.]

Yeah, because I'm not exhausted at all. Ryuji fumbled for his phone, but his pocket had folded closed over it. Instead, he reached over to Ann's phone and swiped the words into it under her message.

[But what am I doing here?]

She brushed his hand aside.

[You'll be helping out with the shoot. Don't worry, simple stuff. No face.]

[My face not good enough huh]

She fixed him with that half-lidded look of derision he'd come to know so well.

[They can't just hire an amateur for that stuff] Ann typed. [Look, you're a hobbyist who's happy to get whatever he can. If anyone asks why you're acting like a dunce, just say you're overwhelmed. Or that you're always a dunce.]

“Hey!”

“Hm?” Saito eyed them out of the mirror. “Oh. Rambled too long, did I? Well, I was young and lovestruck once, too.” She chuckled to herself.

What?

“Oh, the good old days of young love, eh, Togusa? Looks like we got a couple of hand-holders in the back.”

Ryuji looked down to where his fingertips brushed Ann's over the monitor of her phone.

“Hand-holders!” Togusa said, voice thick with mock offense. “Where have the morals of the youth gone?”

Ann jerked her phone away. She typed one last message before pulling away to her side of the car.

[Just play along, okay?]

“Aw look, ya big oaf, now you've made them all embarrassed.”

Ann chuckled with just the right awkwardness and kept her face toward the window. Ryuji settled back into his side of the seat and it wasn't long before he was dozing off to the rhythmic motion of the car and the steady hum of its machinery.

_Shit shit shit! I can hear it. Hurry up!_

_I am hurrying!_

_Can't you go faster?!_

_Well excuse me, mister former track star!_

_If a_ former _track star can manage, then you can run a bit faster! Now hurry up! It's—_

“—here. Wake up.”

Ryuji squinted, blinked, and as a round face with purplish glasses sharpened into focus, he remembered where he was. The magazine worker, Togusa was outlined by a faint glow not of daylight, but of a streetlamp several meters away. The older man stepped away from the car when it was clear Ryuji had gathered his wits, and then motioned him toward a nearby building.

Ryuji found they were in some urban fringe area, on a road sparsely populated with mid-rise buildings. With the sky still dark, they couldn't have gone far, meaning they were likely in one of Tokyo's farthest wards. Which one exactly was beyond him.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Saito said, coming around from the trunk. She was carrying what must have been hundred pounds of equipment in black bags. “Time's wasting.”

Ann acknowledged but hung back with Ryuji, letting the magazine crew lead by a few meters, just far away enough for her to murmur, “Just go along with the stylist. It's mostly me today. Your part comes up later. Get it together, okay? After all, you're a P.T.” she emphasized the letters with an unneeded wink and jab at his side. “This is cheesecake compared to shadows.”

They took an elevator up to the top floor and when the doors opened, they were greeted by a pair of young women. Right away, they talked up a storm with the other two magazine workers. Ann nodded attentively as the words rushed by and before he knew quite what was happening, Ryuji found himself being ushered down one of the halls by one of the young women, away from the other three. She lead him into a small office room with the furniture pushed to one side. Taking up the cleared space was a rack of clothes, half-filled, a chair, and a desk with mirrors and lights arrayed around and upon it. A slight man, hair pulled back into a spiky tail, stood by the setup.

“So you're Ann's friend, eh? What was it… Kuro… Kuru...”

“Ryuji,” he said, trying for the closest syllabic fit.

“Oh? Well, anyway. Let's get to it. By the way, just call me Kondo. My assistant there is Nao. You introduce yourself, Nao? Introduce yourself next time. Have to make them feel at home.” He turned to Ryuji. “Please, feel at home.”

The magazine pair fussed over him a while, picking clothes from the rack and either holding them up to him or having him try them on. They'd examine him in the mirror, push his hair around, muse and mutter, and then move on to the next inspection.

“So Ryuji,” Kondo said as he shuffled around, “How long have you been working with Ann?”

“Not too long,” he said, the words coming out in one breath. Damn it, Ryuji, get it together. Ain't nothing for a Phantom Thief. “Since May.” Besides, can't possibly be worse at lying than Ann.

“Hm, yeah. Not long. How'd you meet?” He pulled a hat from the rack, held it up to Ryuji. Thought better of it.

“Mutual friend?”

“Mm.” A black coat. No good either. “What was your theme?”

“...Castles.”

“Castles… Like, knights and all that? Princesses?”

“Yeah, well. Something like that.”

“Hmm...”

Ryuji could see him in the mirror, riffling through the items from the shelf.

“I'm just trying to get your feel, you know?” He draped a violet vest across Ryuji's chest. Nodded. “I think that'll work. But it's missing something...Oh?” Ryuji felt something pulled from his pocket. In the mirror he could see Kondo inspecting a handkerchief he'd brought from home to dry his hair with. Not that he'd remembered to. Now it hung from the stylist's hand, more than a little rumpled, more than a little red.

“Yes. I think this will do.”

They spent a bit more time working his hair and getting him into his outfit for the shoot—Nao left the room for this, at least—and in short order, Ryuji found himself following the silent assistant back into the hallway, into a stairwell, and up onto the roof.

The sun hadn't quite cleared the horizon line and its rosy glow splashed across the deck. He spotted Ann quickly, central as she was to the semicircles of crew members gathered there. “This way,” Nao said, and he followed her to one side and into a seat that had apparently been prepared for him. But his eyes lingered on Ann. She was stood just off from the railing, the light and darkness mingling around her, clinging to what they could find: some shadow claims the dip between her collar bones, the lee side of her brow; there the light guards jealously the curve of a cheek, the gentle strands of eyelash, the wave and whisper of hair—

_My mom's gonna throw a fit! Or worse, throw me out!_

_She'd really throw you out?_

_Well...no. I guess not. But still!_

_Can't you just tell her you'll be late?_

_My phone's dead._

_Well, if you'd left the house prepared—_

_If you'd left the house in proper freaking shoes—_

_Ugh! Here! Just use my phone and call her._

_…_

_…_

_...Thanks._

_Hm._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Hold on._

_What?_

_Let me just… There. Guess it ain't summer anymore, huh?_

_Is it really that much warmer when ya let your hair down?_

_Yeah. Wanna try it?_

_Ha ha._

_Look, I'm sorry about causing you all that trouble. I'll apologize to your mom for you if you want._

_She would absolutely get the wrong idea if a girl apologized to her._

_Oh, right... Anyway! I mean, it's not every day you get these experiences, right? I mean, when you're older and the world's crushing your soul and you're wondering if it's all worth it, aren't these the kinds of memories you'll look back on? The things that only fate can bring you?_

“Come on, kid. Time to work.”

Ryuji woke with a start. Togusa was looming over him with his purple shades. Behind him, a couple of other were looking his way.

“Y-yeah.” Ryuji hopped to his feet. He started towards Ann, but stopped at a call from Kondo. The stylist hurried over to him. “Here,” he said, and produced from a bag at his side the red handkerchief he'd taken earlier—Ryuji had just about forgotten he'd taken it—slipped it through a loop in the white pants he'd squeezed into, and then tied it into a knot. It fluttered in the breeze, a slash of red trailing from his waist.

The adjustment done, he was ushered over to Ann's side. Away from the crowd, the breeze whipped cold around him and he pulled the vest tighter—

“No!”

He looked up and saw Kondo shaking his head fervently, hands clawing against his chest as if ripping some unseen object apart. Ryuji dropped his hands and let the wind pull the vest open, straining against his shoulders and chest.

They called out instructions at him, which, when they weren't literal—“Turn to the right” or “Dip your shoulder”—Ann provided a translation for. “Bolder,” they said, and she told him, “Like you just figured out a Shadow's weak to lightning;” “Fiercer!” was “Something Yusuke would think looked cool;” and “Like an alpha male!” was “Uh, less you, more Akira.”

Wow. Thanks.

Still, thanks to her help, the shoot went on smoothly enough. They stopped when the sun had put a few inches of sky beneath it and the light went from rose gold to pale yellow. The crew packed up the stuff, trading “Good job” and “Nice work” as they'd pass. So the shoot wasn't a total disaster, at least. Ryuji was about to head back down to change, when he heard Ann calling him over.

“Check it out!” She had a camera in her hands, lens down, and she tilted it slightly so that he glimpsed the gold-tinted image on the display.

“Those ours?” he asked, walking up to her.

“Yeah. I mean, we're in them. We don't get to keep them. Anyway, look.” She held the camera to one side so that it was right between them, aligned with the narrow fraction of an inch between her arm and his. “Well?”

“'Well' what? You can't even see my face!”

The frame had the two of them just left of the center, the background cut in two clean sections: the grayness trailing across the roof deck and the imperious radiance of the rising sun. But Ryuji's form divided it further, a pillar of flesh and fabric, cut across by swaths of shadow and fingers of light. And leaning against him was Ann, her soft curves and glowing face a contrast to his anonymous jags.

“I dunno,” Ann said. “Not like anyone would want to see that mug. When you think of it like that, it brings out the best of you, right?”

“What the— So if it were Akira, his face would've been fine?”

“No,” Ann said. “I told you, this was a no face job from the beginning. I couldn't be bringing in some newbie nobody otherwise.”

“Oh yeah. Guess so.” Ryuji sighed. “Though I can kinda imagine Akira doing this sorta thing.”

“Oh, well I guess I'll leave you to  _imagine_ that all you want,” Ann said, taking a step away.

“Hey!”

She lifted the camera suddenly and her face was replaced by a rounded reflection of Ryuji's own. “Thanks, though,” she said, “You really pulled through for me there.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. No prob—”

Snap.

“Hey! What's that for now, huh?”

Ann giggled. “A little surprise for the photographer. I'll have him send it my way later, then I'll send it to you. A little keepsake for helping me out.”

“Yeah? Not sure how I feel about having my ugly mug as a keepsake.”

“Okay, then, what do you want? I owe you after all.”

“Hmm...” Ryuji shrugged. “I dunno, I can't think of anything right now. I'm too sleepy thanks to all of the crap we did last night—which was also  _your_ fault, by the way. Ugh, I'm not any less tired than Akira, ya know? Gimme a brea—That's it! Next time you get it into your head to rope me into something like this, give me a pass. That'll be what you owe me.”

“Ehh...” Ann puffed her lower lip out. 

“What, no reward for my efforts all of a sudden? It's not even like this sorta thing'll come up again. I don't even know why you picked me of all people.”

Ann shrugged. “Really? I kinda figured you'd have made the same choice. When I remembered about this, I thought 'Crap! What am I going to do?' This was just a few minutes after you'd dropped me off, so I thought of you. Not, like, you right away. I thought, 'What would Ryuji do?'”

“...And you thought Ryuji would bring Ryuji to a photoshoot?”

“Nah. I figured Ryuji would pick the one with the hottest bod.” She punched him in the gut took a step back, and the—Snap! “Well, I've got to return this to the photographer now. See ya!” And just before leaving, she turned the camera so the screen faced him, displaying in grotesque detail his grimacing face.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ryuji sighed.“See ya.”

He watched her go, returning the camera to some middle-aged woman before disappearing into the building.

“She's something, eh?”

Ryuji turned to see Saito and Togusa grinning over at him.

“So,” Saito said, “Is what she said about last night true?”

“What exactly  _did_ she tell you?” Ryuji asked, pulling the vest shut over his chest.

“She says you spent last night traipsing about Tokyo with some idol. 'The best! The most amazing, most beautiful, most awesome—' and so on. You know how she is.”

Ryuji chuckled, as  impressions of the previous night collected in his memory: a lonely streetlamp; Ann's feet in a pair of cheap pink slippers; a hundred yen ballpen; Ann's hair loose and golden around her shoulders; a receipt for a pen and a pair of slippers, and on the back, in flowing strokes— _Rise Kujikawa. Can you believe it? She's just the most amazing, most beautiful most awesome—_ “Yeah,” Ryuji said. “I know how she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a lot longer since chapter three than I thought it'd be. If you're a returning reader, I'm glad to have you back! And whether returning or new, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.   
> By way of explanation, I'd say a lot of things have been going in that have affected my writing. Some has been not good (e.g. dispiriting setbacks in work) but others have been good (e.g. being invited to contribute to an online geek culture publication).   
> That said, I've gotten a semblance of stability going and will be striving for those twice monthly updates again. Till next!


	5. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira, Ryuji, Yusuke and Yuuki have a sleepover at LeBlanc: nothing but bingeing on video games, cramming their mouths full of coffee and curry and, well, figuring out how to get through the mess that is life.

“Late,” Akira said from behind the counter.

“Late,” Yusuke chimed in, his gaze fixed on  _ Sayuri _ .

Mishima, seated at the bar, flashed a helpless grin as he shrugged his shoulders.

“It's ten minutes,” Ryuji said. Talk about a welcome.

“Closer to twenty,” Yusuke said, stepping closer to the portrait to let Ryuji pass.

“But not twenty,” he said, twisting a little to get through with the heavy shopping bags he was carrying. He caught sight of the time on the TV, which was running mute in the background but, seeing it was nearly 20 minutes past their meeting time of six in the evening, decided to stay quiet. “Besides,” he said, hefting the bags onto the bar, “I've got most of the stuff, so it's all good, right?”

Akira looked up from his brewing coffee with a wary expression. “ _ Most _ of the stuff?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, flattened it on the counter, then slid it across to Akira. “I crossed out all the stuff I got. The rest is… I mean, man, does that stuff even go into curry?”

“It's half of what makes LeBlanc's curry what it is,” Akira said.

“Yeah? What's the other half?”

“You're looking at him,” Akira said.

Ryuji threw the balled up sheet in his face. “So make do with that half.”

“No good,” Akira said, straightening the sheet out again. “That'd only be half a LeBlanc curry. Yusuke, coffee's ready.” He slid two cups across the counter: one to Mishima and one to Yusuke, who took the seat on Ryuji's other side. “Colombian single origin. Taste it and add a bit of sugar, if you'd like. Don't suggest cream, though. What about you, Ryuji? A little coffee in your milk, as usual?”

“Whatever's sweet, man.”

“Baby formula it is.”

“Shut up!”

“I think it's rather fitting,” Yusuke said.

“You too!”

“This is quite the recipe,” Mishima said. Akira had left the uncrumpled grocery list on the countertop and Mishima was perusing it over the rim of his cup. “This is Boss's recipe?”

“Sort of. I mean, he makes it. The original came from his 'scientific genius' friend.”

“I guess that explains it,” Mishima said, laughing in typical awkward fashion. “Geniuses tend to do things a bit differently.”

“That would explain her daughter,” Yusuke grumbled.

“That would explain  _ you, _ ” Ryuji shot back.

Yusuke had his mouth open to retort when a loud hiss of water escaped the espresso machine. He and Ryuji turned to the source. Akira shrugged, a flimsy mask of apology on his face. Yusuke went wordlessly back to his sipping.

A moment later, Akira produced another mug, which he handed to Ryuji. “Mocha,” he said, before picking up a stainless steel canister that had been standing by the espresso machine. He unscrewed its lid then raised it up, a thick, toasty aroma wafting from it. “Anyway, we're not here to debate ingredients. We're here to celebrate.”

The others nodded their assent, settling their grips on their mugs.

“A toast,” Akira intoned, “to Ryuji's blooming romance!”

“Ye—What?!”

“Congrats, Sakamoto!” Mishima said, saluting with mug raised.

“That's not what we're here for!”

“Certainly not,” Yusuke muttered.

“Come on, let's be serious about this!”

Akira leaned against the bar and took a slow sip of his drink. “I am serious. I heard about your trip with Ann. Granted, this is a rather late celebration—”

“We're here for the Palace!”

“That too. Or do you mean to tell me you're not happy about where things are going with Ann?”

“There's no 'where things are going.' It ain't going anywhere. We're just the same as ever.”

“You know, I might've been surprised when I woke up past our meeting time that day, but it all made sense when she sent me that picture of you sleeping.”

“She took a—”

“She wouldn't ask just anyone, you know.” For a long moment, he kept his gaze leveled at Ryuji. Then he turned to Mishima, who looked a little lost as always, and said, “She had him help out in one of her shoots.”

“It doesn't mean anything,” Ryuji insisted. “She just picked me for my body.”

“Isn't that what you do?” Yusuke said.

“Is that,” Akira cut in, “Something you figured out yourself? Or something she told you?”

“Straight from her own mouth,” Ryuji said.

“Well she wouldn't outright say it's because she trusts and depends on you and knows you'd be there for her when she needed you.” Akira let the comment linger. After a few seconds of silence from Ryuji, he lifted his canister again. “So yeah, here's to you.”

“Hold up!” Ryuji said, interposing his hands over the cups of the other two before they could lift them—though Yusuke had not moved to—and then regarded each of them in turn. “Let's put this to the test, then. Yusuke. Mishima. Both of you have seen how Ann is around me. What's your take on it? Does she… you know. That is, do you think—”

“Does Ann like Ryuji  _ too _ ?” Akira said. He pounded the counter with his canister, its contents sloshing precariously within. “The house is now in session.”

But there were no responses immediately forthcoming. Several times, Mishima opened his mouth only to silence it with a gulp of coffee. Yusuke merely frowned into his drink. Ryuji glanced from one to the other, fidgeting his knee below the countertop.

“Okay, maybe we should reframe the question,” Akira said. “How would you say Ann and Ryuji  are with each other?”

“She berates him constantly,” Yusuke said.

“She doesn't really talk to him at school,” Mishima added, “Except when he needs her to spot him for lunch.”

“She punches him for sport,” Yusuke went on.

“See, it's pretty clear where this is going,” Ryuji said.

“Oh!” Mishima said, “I guess there is something she can depend on you for.”

“Yeah?” not quite hiding the hope in his voice.

“Mm. After the last batch of exams she said she was glad she'd always have someone to share the bottom ranks with. That was you.”

Ryuji sighed. “Well, there you have it.”

“Not convinced,” Akira said. “Mishima, Yusuke, do you talk to Ann much?”

“Can't say I do,” Mishima said.

“Not individually, no. At least, not since I asked her to model for me.”

Akira nodded. “And yet she talks to Ryuji a lot. Would you say she's, well, open?”

“She speaks her mind,” Yusuke said.

“Go on,” Akira said.

“But she keeps to herself most of the time,” Mishima added. “She always struck me as a private person, especially considering how much… well, how much other people talk about her.”

“So,” Akira said, “For someone who keeps to herself, doesn't go out of her way to talk one-on-one with a lot of people, wouldn't you say she's pretty close to Ryuji over here? Especially consider what it takes to get along with him. What? You going to contest that? Didn't think so. So I'd say we have a pretty good case for it.”

“That just shows she talks to me. Nothing else. I mean, come on, is that  _ really _ how girls treat the people they like?”

Akira shrugged. “I've made my argument. What do you think?”

Yusuke shook his head. “This is quite beyond me.”

“Same here,” Mishima said, laughing sheepishly, “No one's been remotely interested in me.”

“Think about how it goes with other people,” Akira said.

Yusuke's frown deepened. “If that's the question, it would have to be a resounding no. There is certainly no flare of passion between the two of them.”

“When you say flaring passion...” Akira said.

“What all romances are made off—a shared conviction that blossoms into bold declarations of love, labors undertaken in defiance of the world, of the gods, and of fate itself. Revolution in its truest form, leveling all obstacles and toppling all opposition!” Yusuke finished with his hand held up before his face, fingers splayed as if holding a goblet of an ambrosia that only he could see. And then he sighed and his vigor fled. “And yet I see none of that. Not just between Ann and Ryuji, but between anyone at all. People fly into relationships for reasons seemingly inconsequential—convenience, or fear, or some base, carnal hunger.”

“Could you not look at me when you say things like that?” Ryuji said.

“I didn't mean to imply you. You're not in a relationship, after all.”

“Well, okay,” Akira said, looking a little deflated himself. “Mishima?”

“I always figured it was more of finding someone who just clicked with you and making things work from there. You know, just spend time with them, help them when they're in trouble, pick them up when they're down… Nothing so grand as overturning fate or anything. Though in my case, finding someone like that practically  _ is _ overthrowing destiny.”

“Whoa, there,” Ryuji said. “Ain't that a bit harsh? I mean, there's gotta be some chicks you get along with, right? What about the volleyball girls? They're cute.”

Mishima winced. He shook his head.

“What? They didn't seem that bad.”

“No! That's not what I meant. I mean, I'm not exactly an authority on the subject, but they seem, you know… they're not bad.” And then, a beat later: “I am.”

Before anyone could react, he slid from his seat and made for the door with surprising speed. “I'll go grab the rest of the ingredients. See you in a bit!”

Just as Akira was saying “Wait—” the bell chimed, signaling his departure.

“What?” Ryuji said, turning to Akira and Yusuke in turn. “What did I do?”

Yusuke shook his head, more bewilderment than reproach.

“I'm not sure, but I think maybe you can find out. Besides,” he handed Ryuji the battle-worn shopping list, “he'll need this to get the food. Now hurry up, before he reaches the station.”

 

***

 

The sun was well below the city skyline by the time Yuuki stepped into the street. The Yongen-Jaya backstreets were washed in the pale light of streetlamps and storefronts. One sign, scarcely more than a corner away from the cafe, belonged to a grocery.He hurried inside and it wasn't until he was behind the first row of shelves that he slowed his steps. As he drifted down the aisle, his eyes wandered listless over trays of beans and mushrooms and various curds and dried sundries he could identify only because their names were written beneath them in the graceless strokes of a thick-nib marker.

Right. Ingredients.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned them out—holding onto his wallet, phone, and keys, of course—but found nothing but lint and a few hundred yen in coins. Figured. Well, the list had mentioned a few herbs, he knew that much, and he'd be sure to recognize their unfamiliar names the moment he saw the labels. He shoved his essentials back into his pockets and made his way toward the back.

It was hardly a large store and standing at the rearmost aisle, he could easily see wall-to-wall while getting a good idea of what each aisle had. Off to the right of the store was more produce and some dried fruit. On the left were the herbs—and a familiar face looking just as startled as he felt.

“Sakamoto?”

“Mishima! There you are!”

“Uh...yeah?”

“Don't 'yeah' me! The hell was that about?!”

Yuuki winced. “Well, you know… I don't really handle talk like that very well.”

“Eh? But we talked about that stuff during the school trip.”

“We did?”

Ryuji ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“I don't remember… Well, I remember indigestion.”

“Ah cra—I mean, right! Right. Indigestion. Let's not talk about that. I don't wanna lose my appetite. Wait… Ingredients!” Ryuji pulled dug into his pocket and pulled out a much-abused scrap of paper. He smoothed it out on his palm. “Huh. I know some of these, but the rest...”

Yuuki gave it a cursory glance. “They look like herbs,” he said, as much to Ryuji as to himself, then nodded toward the far end. “We'll probably find them over there.”

The last couple of rows were, in fact, dedicated to various seasonings and spices, stored in an array of packets, jars, and bottles. They took a shelf each and slowly crawled their way across the myriad labels.

“So really,” Ryuji said, breaking the silence, “it's nothing to do with the volleyball chicks?”

“Do we—” Yuuki caught himself and dialed his voice back a few steps. “Do we have to talk about this here? What if, you know, someone from school's around?”

“I can talk about it wherever but you seem to not wanna bring it up with Akira and Yusuke. So what's the deal? I mean, yeah, we've done girl talk before. I mean, we've done guy talk. Which was about girls—You know what I mean! You said you were into diligent chicks and all that.”

“Guess that did happen,” Yuuki muttered. “Still, it’s one thing to like someone and another thing to be liked.”

“Obviously. But you’ve gotta hope, right? Even if it’s just a one percent chance, you’ve got to have that. Otherwise, I dunno, what’s the point?”

Yuuki looked up at him and said nothing for a while. And then, “Come on. They’ll need those ingredients soon.”

They went back to perusing the shelves. One pass of the aisle yielded nothing, so Ryuji moved on to the next one while Yuuki double-checked to see if they hadn’t missed anything. His efforts were rewarded by the sight of one of the ingredients. He took a packet and went over to Ryuji in the other aisle. He handed it to him.

“Nice,” Ryuji said. “Now help me find the rest.”

They picked up two more items in the spices area and found the last one on the other side of the store, where the shopkeeper had directed them when they finally asked after ten minutes of fruitless searching. They thanked him again as they lined up at the checkout counter.

“I’ll cover for this,” Yuuki said, pulling his wallet out.

“What? No, man. I was in charge of groceries. Let me handle this.” Ryuji reached into his pocket and grimaced. “Well, uh…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yuuki paid for the items and hoisted the bag they were in. “Now let’s get back.”

“Right. I’ll pay you back so as we reach LeBlanc,” Ryuji said.

“Well, I guess there’s no stopping you,” Yuuki said with a sigh.

“Damn straight,” Ryuji said, giving him a knuckle to the shoulder. “So don’t think you’re getting out of telling me who you’re into, either.”

Yuuki made to respond, but a heavy clap on the back sent the air rushing out of him.

“But don’t worry. I’ll give you some time to get to it.”

 

***

 

It was quarter to ten when they finally wrapped up dinner: an extended affair that had included more than enough curry, multiple cups of coffee and cocoa, and a platter of leftover sweets that Sojiro had been experimenting with, which Akira had declared “Unfit for customers but good enough for a bunch of freeloaders.” Dinner concluded, Akira had ushered Ryuji and Mishima to the attic, where they would be guaranteed to do less damage than in the kitchen. As to why he had been allowed to help with the cleanup, Yusuke couldn’t tell. Akira had simply looked at him while the other two ascended and said, “Think you can handle the rinsing and drying?”

“Of course,” he’d said, and they proceeded into the kitchen together. He could wash with delicacy enough for brushes of the finest bristles—what challenge could simple plates hold?

“You okay there?” Akira said, looking over his shoulder at Yusuke. “You seem a bit tired.”

“I’m quite alright,” he said, depositing a fistful of cutlery into perforated cylindrical holder. “It’s not the dishes, I assure you.”

“I see,” Akira said. He was in the middle of washing a stack of saucers, which bore the unsightly traces of pickled oddments. “But you know, nothing wrong with this sort of thing tiring you out.”

“I assure you, I’m fine.”

But Akira went on. “I have to help out every few nights and it gets pretty tiring if it’s been a busy evening. I’m asleep soon as I hit the pillow afterwards, you know? So it’s kind of a drag, but I guess it gives me some of the best sleep I ever get.”

“I...see,” Yusuke said.

“So if you ever want to sleep like a log, we could always use some spare hands here,” Akira said. “You know, if those hands need a break from painting.”

“Oh.” Yusuke laughed dryly. “Well, perhaps I will as soon as I’ve finished any painting worth speaking of.”

“Not going well?”

Yusuke shook his head. “It’s difficult to say. I’ve produced several studies. In terms of simple volume, this is an improvement over the past few months. And yet nothing seems to be breaking past the expressive limits of my past work. Ultimately it’s just the same thing in different strokes. At this rate… No. It will be fine. I shall overcome.”

“Well,” Akira said, “Of course, LeBlanc’s doors are open to you whatever you need them for, dishwashing therapy or any other help.”

“Thank you, Akira. When this is over, perhaps… Perhaps I shall be able to make reparations for your generosity, as well as Boss’s.”

“Hey, don’t stress it. After all, the best decor in this place is thanks to you. Not to bring it down to simple furniture but, how do I put it… The painting really does something for this place, you know?”

“It certainly does command the space.”

“Tell me about it. Even that stuck-up ‘critic’ pulled up short the first time he saw it.”

A riotous cry broke from the attic, accompanied by the pounding of feet and scraping of furniture on floor. Underneath it all, barely audible, was a melody of beeps that Yusuke recognized as belonging to a spaceship-themed game that Akira had on the old console he’d restored.

“Sounds like Ryuji won,” Yusuke said.

“Sounds like I’m getting a complaint from the neighbors. Hold on,” Akira muttered. He turned to leave the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron, but was interrupted by the rapport of fleet footsteps descending the stairs. A moment later, Ryuji and Mishima appeared in the gallery.

“Outta drinks. Back in a bit,” Ryuji said. He and Mishima had switched to their loungewear, but had their jackets thrown on. They were slipping their shoes on as they went, Ryuji doing so with practised ease and Mishima stumbling after him. The chime sounded as Ryuji dashed out into the dark and they caught a muffled “Later!” from Mishima as the door closed after them.

“Well, at least they’re pulling their weight somehow,” Yusuke said with an amused shrug. “We won’t have to worry about drinks.”

“Yes,” Akira said, sweeping his arms across the shelves of beans, grinds, and blends that stretched from behind the bar to the far end of the kitchen. “What would we have done otherwise?”

 

***

 

“First!” Ryuji shouted as he cleared the intersection.

“But we weren’t racing…” Yuuki said, following in a confused half-run. “Were we?”

“What did ya think all our training was for?”

“But I didn’t—”

“Eh, you’ll get your chance. Come on.”

The two of them carried on at a relaxed pace toward the main street. They’d passed a pair of vending machines two blocks earlier, but Ryuji had insisted on getting something from the nearby Lawson. It was just after deciding this that he’d picked up his pace: slowly at first, before breaking into a sprint just a moment ago.

“So. You remember what we were talking about earlier?”

“Earlier?” They hadn’t spoken much throughout their rounds of Star Forneus and dinner had been a hodgepodge of topics ranging from the Battle of Marathon to whether or not Mr. Inui dyed his hair. But then if Ryuji was getting hyped up over racing… “Do you mean about the Spartan training? Shoving trees?”

“What? No!” He frowned. “Though I’m pretty sure it’s worth a shot. Anyway, I’m talking about who you like.”

Yuuki’s toe caught on the curbside and near sent him sprawling. “What? Were we talking about tha—”

“Earlier. You know, groceries? So now that we’re out grabbing more stuff we can pick up where we left off, yeah? Besides, the others ain’t here right now. So out with it!”

“Eh? There’s not really anyone…”

“I ain’t buying it. Come on, your class has a buncha cute girls.”

“Like Takamaki?”

“‘xactly! Like— Wait.” He stopped and rounded on Yuuki. “You don’t mean—”

“Kidding! Kidding…”

“Oh.” Ryuji broke into a grin and slapped him on the shoulder. “I mean, if you did then, you know. We’d have been rivals. And no offense, but I’d make sure to beat you there too.”

“Well, obviously. You two are an item, aren’t you?”

“What?! Oh, come on. You don’t buy that crap from earlier, do ya?”

Yuuki shrugged. “Wouldn’t it be a good thing?”

“No! I mean, yeah, it would… if it were true.” Ryuji scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “But right now? That kinda talk gets out and, well, it’d be trouble. I wouldn’t want her to catch wind of any of this before, you know…”

“Before you tell her?”

After a while, Ryuji nodded and then turned and resumed walking. Soon after, they reached the main road. There were a few other pedestrians on the road: some heading home late, others stealing one last moment from the darkened city, passing in and out of the light of storefronts and street lamps.

“But you know, I’m pretty sure she likes you.”

Ryuji shrugged. “That’s something, I guess.”

“It’s  _ something _ , alright. Most guys struggle just getting the girl they like to know they exist.”

“So there  _ is _ someone you like?”

“Even I won’t fall for it if you change the subject that obviously…”

Ryuji chuckled. “Was worth a shot.”

“One win for Mishima!”

“Shut up. That’s way too easy.”

“Fine, fine. So if Takamaki likes you— _ probably _ likes you,” he interjected, as Ryuji frowned at him, “Then what’s got you down?”

Ryuji sighed. “It’s just… Sure, maybe she likes me. Even I’m not dense enough to think that’s out of bounds. But liking someone and being liked back, that’s one thing. But farther than that… Wait.”

“What?” Yuuki blurted as Ryuji spun to face him.

“Aw, hell, man!” He thrust his arm out, gesturing emphatically at the space behind Yuuki. “We missed it!”

Sure enough, they’d been so absorbed in their conversation that they’d gone half a block past the Lawson. Ryuji dashed over to it and Yuuki hurried behind him. By the time he reached the entrance, Ryuji was walking briskly to the coolers at the back, basket it hand.

They got a few cans of soda, a bottle of oolong tea, and, since they were there already, a bag of chips to snack on. Having remembered to bring his wallet this time, Ryuji insisted on paying. They’d done all this with just a few words exchanged and that silence persisted when Ryuji suggest they take a break on a bench by the corner of a side street. Ryuji had cracked open a can of soda and must have drained it half in one go. Afterwards, he’d simply sat there, watching the street.

“Do you ever wonder if you can—” Ryuji cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, barely audible over the distant hum of engines. “Do you ever wonder if you’ve got what it takes to really love someone?”

It was hardly what Yuuki had expected and he stared at him absently for a while. Ryuji’s face remained fixed on the street.

“And I don’t mean having someone like you, whether it’s the person you like or not. Do you ever wonder if you have what it takes when they need you most?”

Yuuki was still for a moment before a sudden pressure seized him and he gasped for breath. And then the tension that had held him rigid escaped and he slumped against the bench. He noticed then that Ryuji had tensed—whether in response to his own gasp or if he’d been that way from the start, he couldn’t tell. But when he spoke, he saw Ryuji slowly, slowly regain his composure.

“I guess I don’t. I suppose I did before, but these days, well, to go with your exact words… It’s not something I wonder about myself.”

Ryuji turned to him then and when their eyes met Yuuki saw a sudden shift in his friend’s expression. He chuckled sheepishly. He could feel the sting of salt and heat on his eyes. “I’ve been there. I’ve been tested. I failed.”

His vision faltered then, the nighttime city washed away by a flood of lights blurring into each other, exploding into rings in the ink of night. He felt Ryuji’s hand, heavy but gentle, on his shoulder.

“H-hey.”

Yuuki quivered, shook his head, straightened up. He wiped the tears from his eyes with a sleeve and the city slowly came into focus. “It’s fine,” he said, “I… Well, it’s something I faced some time ago. It was easy to run away from before. Easy to ignore or pretend it wasn’t what it was. But... “ he choked on a laugh. “But I nearly killed someone, Sakamoto. I nearly killed…”

He couldn’t get the name out. Nor could he think of some easier word to say in place of that name. The weight of it all had clamped around his neck.

But Ryuji broke the silence. “The Kamoshida business.”

Yuuki nodded and, at last, breathed again.

It was some time before Ryuji said, “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I know what I did, Sakamoto. And I know what I didn’t do.”

“You weren’t the one putting them through that.”

“I wasn’t the one who stopped it either.”

“You hardly had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice—”

“Not when you’re not in control!” Ryuji’s voice had risen steadily and at the end of his last statement, he’d risen from his seat as well. His hands were in fists, pressing harshly into his sides. “Sometimes… you made the choice long ago.”

Yuuki croaked a laugh. “And there’s no going back.”

“But there is going forward.”

Yuuki shook his head.

“Yeah, it sounds camp as hell, but there’s going forward. And I see you trying.”

He shook his head again. Opened his mouth to speak but mustered nothing.

“It’s the same with me. Well, maybe not exactly the same, but I think… I think I’m starting to understand. But we’ll move forward.”

“We’re not all so strong,” Yuuki muttered.

“You don’t have to be strong.” He barked a laugh. “Hell, people can move forward on a broken leg.”

Ryuji’s hand came down on Yuuki’s back hard enough to jolt him but not enough to hurt. On instinct, he turned to Ryuji. He’d expected some reckless grin, but found only a grim expression.

“You have to keep moving. Bad foot forward.”

Yuuki nodded. In time, he stood up and they carried on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when I think I can get this fic rolling, more things get in the way. Still, coming up (when I can manage it): Yusuke takes his turn in the spotlight.


	6. Between Doubt and Assurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his deadline draws closer, Yusuke finds himself mired in misgivings and doubts--and a lack of funds. A quick trip to Leblanc for food and inspiration yields more than he'd hoped for in ways he couldn't have expected.

Yusuke awoke in harsh brightness. With some effort, he threw his arm across his face and then curled into a sitting position. Blink. Squint. Eyes forced open. Paper was strewn across the floor in sheets and crumpled balls, mingling with creased shirts and unpaired socks. Three cups of Jagariko were on his desk.

He reached out and grabbed one. It was empty. Next one. Empty. He grabbed the last one, felt some reassuring weight, and then yanked it towards him. Pungent brush-water sloshed over the rim and spilled onto his bed.

“By the—” Yusuke stood up, jerking the cup away only to send more water splashing out the side. He stared down at the dark patch on his bed and the inky streaks running down his shirt. “Sordid.”

Fortunately, it was merely an undershirt, so he wouldn’t be short on uniforms. But, as he found when he opened his closet, it was the last clean one he had left. His wardrobe, it turned out, was entirely empty except for his coat, a few pairs of socks, and some garter-warped undergarments.

So it had been that long.

He pulled the soiled sheets off the bed and rolled them up. In a separate bundle, he gathered his laundry. As he combed the room for his laundry, he cataloged the studies and sketches scattered about the floor. He remembered some of them. A few more were unfamiliar, but clearly continuations of some idea he still recognized. And yet nearly half of the drafts were mysteries to him. One had been smudged by a sock whose pair he couldn’t find. He consigned it to a quiet corner of his closet, there to wait until he could track down its match.

In all, it took him twenty minutes to gather his laundry and haul it to the dormitory laundromat. A single machine couldn’t fit it all, so he loaded two. Even with the subsidy the school provided, the fees would cut into his spending. Accounting for his share of the Mementos spoils, that would mean…

He pulled out his phone to check the budget file he kept as an unsent draft, but this invariably led him to his overflowing inbox as well. Or rather, a couple of unread messages and one particular conversation thread that was by now several lines long.

>> Futaba Sakura [01:13]: Maybe that Mozart piece. Dies Irae. Get it? De-si-re. Di-e-si-re?

>> Futaba Sakura [01:15]: Not that complicated Inari :U

>> Futaba Sakura [01:19]: Or just paint Ann. Akira told me about how you two met ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

Yusuke grimaced. He had a vague recollection of his first encounter with the other Phantom Thieves and while there had been no malice in his proposition, he now understood just how discomfiting it was. Akira and Makoto had spent a good hour or so explaining this to him. He’d later told all this to Futaba—a move he regretted not simply because she wouldn’t let him live it down, but also because she had then taken another hour to educate him on the concept of “third wheeling.” Which she also kept ribbing him about.

But there was more:

>> Futaba Sakura [02:01]: INARI

>> Futaba Sakura [02:01]: Have you seen the latest Featherman??? * o *

>> Futaba Sakura [02:02]: I swear I would marry Feather Argus.

>> Futaba Sakura [02:02]: Just paint her.

>> Futaba Sakura [02:02]: Argus, I mean. Not Ann.

>> Futaba Sakura [02:03]: Or maybe Ann as Pink ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

>> Futaba Sakura [02:04]: Is Pink not your type? ò_ó

>> Futaba Sakura [02:04]: You have weird taste so I wouldnt be surprised

There were two dozen more messages going off on various tangents about her favorite series. Yet another thing she’d taken upon herself to educate him on. _What kind of Japanese artist doesn’t know about tokusatsu, anime and manga?!_ His protests that he had read Hokusai’s manga in its entirety at least eight times had done nothing to assuage her. So at her behest, he’d watched five “seasons” of Featherman over the course of two weeks along with various animated classics.

There was something to those modern works, he had to admit. They had this simplicity—No, that wasn’t it. Directness? The way they took lofty concepts like justice and righteousness and made them simple. As plain as primary colors on black and white. Morality in the s tarkness of Mondrian. What might they say about desire? Did red blend into pink? Or was blue rent within, seeking to be filled by—

“Kitagawa!”

Yusuke broke from his reverie with a grunt. The voice belonged to his roommate, Ishikawa, who was standing by the laundromat entrance. He was a member of the shogi team and despite his appearance—harsh, angular features and a mane of wild black hair—he was a conscientious sort and the two of them got along fairly well. “Up at last, eh?”

“Yes,” he grunted, still slogging through the muck of his pondering.

“You eaten dinner yet?” Ishikawa asked. “Or, uh, lunch?”

He shook his head.

“I see. So I guess you haven’t heard the kitchen’s closed? Something about a gas leak or something. Anyway, me and some others are heading over to Big Bang in a bit. Care to join us?”

The prospect of dining out returned Yusuke to his earlier concern: budget. He quickly opened the draft and made a few mental calculations.  Winced. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Right,” his roommate said. “Catch you later then.”

Yusuke bid him farewell and returned to his financial considerations. Given how much time had elapsed, he had three meals to account for, even without breakfast, which he never ate anyway. Then if he considered the easel he’d had to replace, the 18-piece palette knife set, the two special order pigments, the multivitamins from Akira’s doctor acquaintance...

He closed the document and stared at his phone.

>> Futaba Sakura [02:38]: Still battling the minionlings of artists block?

>> Futaba Sakura [02:56]: “Photography Firm Explores Blockchain to Guard Artists’ Rights” [link]

>> Futaba Sakura [3:31] : zzz Im out see ya Inari

Much as it pained him to do so, it appeared he would be relying on Boss’s hospitality once more.

At the very least, a visit to _Sayuri_ could only do him good.

  


***

  


Under the long rays of sunset, the steps of the Kanda Church took on an almost golden hue. Fitting, Akira thought, for its name. Like a field of golden wheat consecrated to the one, immanent god or something. Not that he was much familiar with Christianity’s particulars, despite his surname being its most recognizable symbol. Even from halfway up the stairs, he could already see the massive cross within, its suspended sufferer glancing his way with a distraught expression. Hifumi had said it was to put worshippers in a properly guilty frame of mind. Conversely, Makoto had insisted there was no cause for guilt—if anything, the Messiah’s followers had been among the greatest rogue’s in Japan’s history.

Probably safe to trust Makoto on this one. Not like Hifumi went to church for the theology.

He found his strategy consultant sitting on a pew at the back. A shogi board was set up on the seat beside her and she was tapping a piece against it while perusing a guide book. Akira dropped onto the seat on the other side of the board.

“How fares the Dragon Army?”

Hifumi shook her head. “It holds the advantage of numbers, but its position is precarious. Its strongest reserves been deployed, while the opponent has some yet to spare,  ready to sortie at a moment’s notice . How do you respond when you have committed all your resources but the other has held back?”

“Why, Great General, do you speak of war or of love?”

“War, of course, what has this to do with l—wait, what?!”

Hifumi’s voice echoed throughout the nave. Akira flinched and  scanned the room on instinct, looking out for the  parish  priest.  Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed except for a frowning middle-aged man near the back.

“Akira,” Hifumi said, having apparently collected herself. “Don’t startle me like that.”  
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He lifted up a plastic bag. “I brought some coffee.”

“Open with that next time!” Hifumi said, any last traces of annoyance dissolving. “Let me just pack up.”

As soon as Hifumi had  put away her shogi set, the two of them moved to the adjoining garden. The term was a bit of a stretch: it was no more than an alley with a few flowers and shrubs and a single dignified-looking tree. Akira sipped calmly at a Suntory black while Hifumi drank more liberally from her latte.

“So puzzles today instead of practice matches? That’s rare.”

“Progress is a mix of learning new things and putting them into practice. You won’t get far simply applying what you already know.”

“I know what you mean.” Akira said, nodding gravely. “There’s only so many times you can use the same pickup line.”

“Oh?” Hifumi replied flatly, “And how many times is that?”

“I’m not sure. Five times now I’ve used ‘I brought some coffee’ and it still gets you to—”

“Hey!” Hifumi raised her fist in mock anger. “Keep this up and I’m telling Makoto on you.”

Akira shrugged. “If you can actually get hold of her, I’d commend you.”

She shot him a puzzled look. “ Are there any problems—”

“All good,” he said, waving his hand unconcernedly. “She’s busy these days, though. Senior stuff.”

“Ohh.” Hifumi nodded. She took a long, slow sip of her coffee.

“Besides, I don’t think it’d work if we just hung out all the time, either. Like you said, you have to keep bringing something new into the mix, right?”

Hifumi shrugged and turned away, watching the pedestrians crossing the street in front of the church.  “I was only talking about shogi.”

“Hmm.” Akira leaned closer, inspecting her guarded expression. “So does this mean your lessons on strategy are inapplicable in the battlefield of the heart?”

Hifumi  laughed . “Who even says ‘battlefield of the heart’ these days?”

“Hey! You talk like that all the time when we play shogi!”

She shook her head pointedly.  “ L ike I said: that’s shogi. This is… well, something else. Oh.”  She put her drink down on the ledge of a nearby window and got her cellphone out of her bag. A look of surprise flashed across her face.

“Something wrong?”

“Not exactly...” her fingers hovered over the screen. “Several of the other shogi players are having dinner together, apparently. Looks like they just sent an invitation to the group chat so I got it, too.”

“You’re not going?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really get along well with the other shogi players from Kosei. Circumstances being what they are...”

“Makes sense. But you sure you want to keep things that way? Don’t you have to learn new things and apply them?”

Hifumi’s gri pped her phone. Kept her gaze on the passing crowds. “That… may be so.”

“So should we head to the station?”

She sighed. “ I guess . Your reasoning has prevailed.” With a few quick strokes of her fingers, she fired off a reply. “Now, let’s go before I lose my nerve.”

  


***

  


The bell above the door chimed as Yusuke entered. The commute had taken the better part of an hour, thanks to the late afternoon rush of students, but he felt a rush of rejuvenation as he glimpsed the countenance of a familiar young woman. Just as she always did,  _Sayuri_ took him into her arms and away from the burdens of the world.

It was not, of course,  a literal embrace , nor was Sayuri the true name of the gentle woman who returned his gaze, however indirectly. Mother and child alike were but a portrait. And yet that gaze felt richer than any of the emotions he had mustered in the past several days. Who, then, was the facsimile?  He slumped against the door and sighed.

“You going to order or do I have to ask you to leave?”

Yusuke blinked. He turned to the counter, where Boss was regarding him with a raised eyebrow and half a smile.

“Akira’s not in right now,” Boss said as Yusuke took a seat. “Should he be?”

“No. That’s alright. We didn’t have an appointment. It’s simply that the Kosei dormitory’s cafeteria is closed today. I thought I’d drop by here and pay _Sayuri_ a visit.”

“That so? You’re in luck. Finished a fresh batch of curry just a while ago. That said, how ‘bout you do a little something for me before you and the painting get back to your quality time?”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Boss nodded. “Good to see some people still have manners.” Taking a pair of insulated food containers from a cupboard, he measured out enough curry and rice to feed three or four people. He put the containers in a canvas bag, which he placed on the table. Leaning forward, he said in a lower voice, “Take these to the house. I haven’t had the chance to cook anything over there and I don’t want Futaba ordering donuts for dinner or something.”

“Yes, sir.” Yusuke said.

“Good. There’s enough for two, so help yourself while you’re there. Keep her from eating anything she shouldn’t.”

“Understood.”

“And nothing sketchy, got it?”

Yusuke opened his mouth the respond but just before he did, the proper sense of Boss’s words made their way past his mental fog. He nodded dumbly.

“Then get going. You can have some coffee when you’re back. I’ll be here a while longer and she,” he jabbed his thumb toward the painting by the entrance, “will be here all night.”

He bowed deeply, which caused him to wobble a bit, and then turned unsteadily on his heels.

“Careful now,” Boss said.

Yusuke nodded emphatically, his gaze fixed on the door. Not a second later, the bell chimed his exit.

Yongen-jaya at dusk had a certain comforting air to it, but as Yusuke made his way to the Sakura residence, the hunger he’d long been suppressing bit into him with renewed vigor—no doubt thanks to the long commute behind him and the faint scent of curry wafting up from the weight in his hands. When at last he saw a light on in the second-story of a familiar, narrow house, he picked up his pace until he was standing at the entrance, ringing the doorbell.

A moment later, there was a buzzing in his pocket.

>> Futaba Sakura [19:09]: You can come in, Inari.

>> Futaba Sakura [19:09]: Spare key in the pipe space, behind fire extinguisher.

Yusuke glanced around.

Buzz.

>> Futaba Sakura [19:10]: Right side of house. Grey cabinet thing.

It was just as she described: a gray metal cabinet with some utility controls inside. There was a small fire extinguisher, its handle wrapped in cobwebs, sitting upon a red tray.  He shouldered the bag with the food and leaned inside. As he did so, a wave of dizziness hit him and he listed forward. Only a hand planted on the frame of the cabinet kept him from pitching face-first into the cobwebs and steel.

Steadying himself against the frame of the space, he leaned forward again, reaching behind the red canister. Sure enough, there was the key.

As he returned to the front door, he scanned the surroundings—but if there were any cameras there, they eluded his scrutiny.

“Excuse me,” Yusuke muttered as he slipped off his shoes and shuffled into the house. The lamps were off on the ground floor, but the light spilling through the stairwell was just enough for him to find his way.

“Ascend!”

Yusuke’s grip on the bag tightened as Futaba’s cry broke the stillness. He looked around, spotted some clear space on a kitchen counter, and deposited the food there. “Coming up,” he said, making his way to the stairs.

The light was coming from the hall lamp. Futaba’s room, which he could see through the narrow opening between the door and its frame, appeared to be dark. Soft strains of synthesized music drifted out from within.

He found Futaba sitting in front of her computer, toying idly with a glutinous Gudetama toy, squinting at rows of multicolored text. “Boss told me to bring you dinner.”

“Well, did you?”

“Yes. It’s downstairs.”

“Good. Consider your toll paid.”

“My what?”

“Toll. For basking in my magnanimous magnificence. And also for the info on the spare key.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“The security cameras”—she lingered on the s for emphasis—“are the least of my tricks. If nothing else, this house is more secure than the Phan-site that dopey NPC guy’s been running. What was his name? Majime?”

Yusuke stared at her blankly.  He might have indulged her some other time but at that moment, all he could think of was the food waiting downstairs.

“You know! M…ishima?”

“Oh.”

“Whatever. I’m eating.”

Futaba’s footsteps rumbled down the stairs. A moment later and the hall filled with light from below.

Yusuke found her at the dining table, removing the containers from the bag. “Go get dishes,” she said, waving her arm in the direction of the kitchen. As he moved to comply, he heard a faint popping behind him and then the air was filled with the aroma of curry.

“Where—” he began.

“Lower right of sink.”

The dishes were in the cabinet, behind the saucers. Yusuke crouched over on one knee and reached out, but as he lifted the dishes he felt something come undone within him. For a moment, his ears were filled with the dull thumping of his pulse; his mind swam in a weightless sea. The world tilted.

“Inari!”

A cold firmness pressed up against his shoulder, arm, and hip. The room swayed around him even as an upended gravity moored his side to that hard, faceless surface. Something tugged at his shoulder and the world shifted again. A bright light hovered at the edge of his vision, its glow limning the edges of a face that appeared suddenly before him. A hand scooped his head off the ground while another slipped under his shoulders propping him up.

“Inari!”

The world slowed to  a halt . Yusuke blinked his eyes. Futaba. Her face was accented with highlights and shadows, but the uneasiness in her expression was clear.

“I’m… okay,” he said.

She heaved a sigh and her concern evaporated. “Good.”

Yusuke blinked. Could it be?

“You had me worried there. Let me guess, you haven’t eaten in four days?”

No.  It couldn’t He shook his head.

“Thought so. Come on, then.”

He let Futaba help him to his feet and then followed her to the table. The world was steady under his feet but his  thoughts swirled like a maelstrom around a single image stabbing into his mind .

Futaba slid him a plate heaped with rice and curry. As she did so, he studied her face. It seemed all in order: small nose tucked under the breadth of her glasses, large eyes behind them betraying trepidation that never fully vanished, but which was now showing in full force. “Inari, are you sure you’re okay? You’re looking kinda funny… at me?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I was a little off-balance for a moment.” And truly, it had been just a moment—when, as if absolved by the light, her face moved from fear to felicitous relief, she had donned an eerie semblance to a face that had long, long inhabited the innermost depths of his mind.

“Good,” she said, and smiled.

And he froze.

For there it was again, in that ephemeral moment between doubt and assurance: the gaze of  _Sayuri._

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand it's up. This is my first foray into fanfiction in, well, some years. But with a great game like P5 and encouragement from friends in the fandom, well...  
> I'm not really sure what else to add, except that I'm not a quick writer by any stretch of the definition. I'll strive to keep updates regular, but let's just say one week is being optimistic and two weeks is being, well, somewhere between optimistic and honest with myself.  
> Hope you enjoy/ed!


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